THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


, 


I 

PEBBLEBROOK. 


*          * 


PEBBLEBROOK, 


HARDING     FAMILY 


BOS  TON: 

BENJAMIN    H.    GREENE. 
1839. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1839, 

BY  BENJAMIN  H.  GREENE, 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  Massachusetts. 


BOSTON. 
PRINTED    BY    I.    R.    BUTTS. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER    I. 
THE  PRESCRIPTION,  &.c.       .     .     . 


CHAPTER    II. 
THE  HARDING  FAJIILY. 


CHAPTER   III. 
PEBBLEBROOK.    .     .  .    .     . 


CHAPTER    IV. 
UNCLE  JOHN » 21 

CHAPTER    V. 
AUNT  MART.      .• 31 

- 


1188745 


vi  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER   VI. 
THREE  GREAT  MEN 42 

CHAPTER    VII. 
COUSIN  SIMEON.      ...........      53 

CHAPTER    VIII. 
THE  LITERARY  MEMBER *'.     .     .     .       63 

CHAPTER    IX. 
A  REJECTED  ARTICLE 66 

CHAPTER    X. 

SlJB-BlOGRAPHY    OP   PATRICK    HENRY.        ....         87 

CHAPTER    XI. 
FOURTH  OF  JULY.  .     ......    ik  ...     116 

CHAPTER    XII. 
NEXT  DAY .     .     131 

CHAPTER    XIII. 
SUNDAY 137 

CHAPTER    XIV. 
COUSIN  HARRY.  147 


CONTENTS.  vii 

m 

CHAPTER    XV. 
A  VISIT  TO  NATOOK 158 

CHAPTER    XVI. 
BROTHER  WILLIAM. ,   T   168 

CHAPTER    XVII. 
POOR  KATE 174 

CHAPTER    XVIII. 
UNCLE  ROBERT 178 

CHAPTER    XIX. 
MISCELLANIES 187 

CHAPTER    XX. 
HOMEWARD  BOUND 195 

. 

CHAPTER    XXI. 

AT  HOME.  .    ."  205 


• 


-*  •    w 


• 


PEBBLEBROOK 


AND    THE 


HARDING    FAMILY. 


CHAPTER    I. 


THE     PRESCRIPTION,    E  T   C. 

I  HAD  fallen  into  a  moping  way,  and  had  many  ail 
ments  of  that  bad  kind  to  which  physicians  can  give  no 
name.  The  medical  man  who  attended  me,  had  given 
tonics,  and,  for  aught  I  know,  bread  pills.  Life  had  be 
come  a  burden  to  me  and  the  world  almost  joyless.  I 
could  do  nothing,  even  the  commonest  thing,  without  an 
effort :  every-day  conversation  with  intimate  friends  was 
a  weariness.  In  truth  I  had  no  object  in  life. 

One  day  my  patient  and  long  suffering  physician,  after 
the  usual  inquiries,  took  a  slip  of  paper  from  his  pocket, 
wrote  on  it,  handed  it  to  my  housekeeper  and  departed. 
"  I  don't  believe  the  apothecary  keeps  it,"  said  she  en 
deavouring  to  read.  "Get  a  horse"  —  I  took  it  from 
her  :  it  ran  thus  :  '•'  Get  a  good  horse,  get  upon  his  back, 

1 


2  PEBBL  EBROOK. 

ride  to  Pebblebrook  and  visit  your  friends :  see  what  is 
before  you,  listen  to  whatever  speaks,  speak  to  every 
thing  that  can  hear  :  look  not  always  downward ;  look 
upward  toward  the  sky."  I  was  angry ;  rose  hastily  and 
walked  to  the  open  window.  The  doctor  was  upon  his 
horse:  he  bowed,  smiled  benevolently,  waved  his  hand, 
and  rode  away.  It  was  a  beautiful  spring  morning  :  a 
bird  sang  sweetly  in  a  tree  near  the  house.  I  looked  at 
the  tree,  then  at  the  paved  street  and  brick  buildings :  1 
listened  to  the  song  of  the  bird,  and  then  to  the  rattling 
of  carriages  and  trucks.  He  may  be  right,  I  said  thought 
fully  —  one  may  as  well  die  on  horseback  as  in  an  arm 
chair.  —  I  gave  directions  to  forward  my  trunk  to  Peb 
blebrook  by  the  stage  coach,  and  rode  that  afternoon  ten 
miles  on  my  way.  In  the  parlor  of  the  little  inn,  where  1 
stopped  to  pass  the  night,  a  man  of  middle  age  was  writ 
ing  at  a  small  table.  He  looked  up  when  I  entered,  re 
marked  that  the  evening  was  pleasant,  and  continued  to 
write.  I  was  about  to  leave  the  room  when  he,  looking 
up  again,  said  :  "  you  don't  disturb  me  at  all,  sir  :  indeed 
1  have  done."  He  folded  his  letter,  superscribed  it,  and 
calling  the  landlord  asked  him  to  send  it  to  the  post 
office.  "  There,"  said  he  turning  to  me,  "  that  will  ' 
make  some  half  dozen  human  beings  happy."  I  was 
struck  and  pleased  with  the  man's  frank  bearing,  and 
said,  smiling:  "  How  do  you  know  that?"  "  How  do  I 
know  it?"  returned  he  in  yankee  fashion,  Why,  I  be 
lieve  it,  and  in  belief  there  is  much  that  makes  itself 
true.  When  my  wife  gets  that  letter  there  '11  be  a  noisy 
time.  Bob  and  Will  and  Kate  will  shout :  a  letter  from 
father  !  a  letter  from  father !  Then  there  '11  be  a  few  min 
utes  silence  while  she  reads  aloud,  and  noise  enough  after 


THE     PRESCRIPTION,     ETC.  3 

it:  the  rascals,  the  villains!"  —  "Are  they  so  bad?"  I 
asked.  "  Yes,  they  began  to  lie  as  soon  as  they  could 
talk  and  even  before.  They  do  not  lie  so  much  now,  nor 
do  they  tell  so  many  truths :  in  fact  I  am  afraid  my  old 
est  boy  is  in  a  bad  way ;  he  is  somewhat  too  circumspect ; 
he  is  beginning  to  think  too  much  about  himself;  the 
commandment,  '  Thou  shalt  not  steal,  '  begins  to  have  a 
state's  prison  meaning  to  him.  Have  you  any  children  ?  " 
"  Not  yet,"  said  I,  laughing,  "  but  I  hope  to  have  one 
day." 

"  That 's  right,  that 's  right,  don't  read  Malthus  on  pop 
ulation  :  many  a  rich  man  in  old  England,  whose  income 
would  support  thousands,  has  read  that  book  and  almost 
wept  to  think  how  many  creatures  are  coming  into  a 
world  where  there  is  no  place  for  them.  There  are  few 
things  more  ridiculous  than  the  theories  of  moralists  and 
politicians.  One  can  fancy  the  awful  feelings  of  some  the 
orizing  man  sitting  by  a  cheerful  wood-fire  some  centu 
ries  ago,  and  computing  the  millions  of  human  beings 
that  must  freeze  to  death  when  all  the  forests  should  be 
cut  down ;  forgetting  that  earth  has  bowels  as  well  as 
hair  on  its  skin  :  in  short,  as  I  said  before,  faith  is  a  good 
thing;  it  saves  one  a  world  of  useless  trouble  and  anxie 
ty." — There  was  a  pause,  until  I,  calling  to  mind  my 
medical  friend's  prescription,  said,  "  you  spoke  just  now  of 
your  family  :  I  have  read  much  about  married  life  and 
the  means  of  happiness  in  that  state :  you  seem  to  have 
had  some  experience  ;  what  do  you  think  are  the  best 
means  ? " 

Faith,  Hope,  and  Charity  ;  or,  in  one  word  Love.  The 
means  in  this  case,  as  in  many  others,  are  in  the  end  ;  — 
but,"  said  he,  suddenly  rising,  "  I  must  be  off.  I  must 
ride  into  the  city  to-night,  and  it  is  already  quite  dark ; 


4  PEBBLEBROOK. 

good  evening."  He  mounted  his  horse  and  rode  away. 
I  inquired  of  the  landlord,  but  could  learn  nothing  of 
this  stranger.  Soon  I  retired  to  bed,  and  had  pleasanter 
dreams  than  usual. 

The  next  morning  was  rainy,  and  I  remained  at  the 
little  inn  almost  regretting  that  I  had  left  home.  After 
noon,  however,  the  sun  stepped  forth  and  spread  his  bow 
on  the  rain-drops  of  the  eastward-sailing  cloud.  1  rode 
joyously  on  my  way.  One  broad  smile  spread  itself  over 
nature's  newly  washed  face.  Clouds,  I  said  to  myself, 
are,  as  I  can  now  plainly  perceive,  only  unsubstantial, 
transient,  near  things :  they  come  never  from  the  sun 
above,  but  always  from  the  earth  below.  In  their  begin 
ning  they  are  invisible ;  we  cannot  see  them  till  they  are 
formed  and  look  black.  Then  comes  the  thunder  and 
lightning,  awful  to  ear  and  eye  of  mortal  man.  But  soon 
the  cloud  has  broken,  it  has  altogether  rained  down, 
and  lo,  earth  is  made  glad  and  fruitful.-  I  had  some 
thoughts  about  the  "  origin  and  uses  of  Evil,"  which  may 
be  omitted  here.  Toward  night  I  stopped  at  the  house 
of  an  old  friend  of  my  mother's.  She  met  me  at  the  door 
with  a  cheerful  greeting,  and  expressed  her  pleasure  at 
seeing  me  abroad  again.  She  introduced  me  to  a  young 
lady,  her  niece,  who  was  in  the  room,  and  we  were  chat 
ting  cheerfully  together,  when  the  husband  of  my  hostess 
entered.  I  had  never  seen  him  before,  and  thought  that 
his  cold  look  indicated  little  warmth  of  heart.  He 
said,  very  solemnly,  when  his  wife  introduced  me :  "  you 
are  the  sick  Mr.  Harding  of  whom  I  have  often  heard." 
He  inquired  so  particularly  about  my  ailments  that  I  felt 
embarrassed,  and  answered  briefly  as  I  could :  a  sly  smile, 
which  I  noticed  on  the  young  woman's  face,  had  little  of 
encouragement  for  me.  "  Sometimes,"  said  he,  speaking 


THE     P  RE  SCRI  PT  I  O  If,     ETC.  5 

as  to  himself  in  the  way  of  recapitulation,  "  sometimes 
you  hare  pains  in  your  head,  sometimes  little  appetite,  and 
often  a  sense  of  fatigue :  you  do  not  sleep  well  at  night, 
and  find  it  difficult  to  rise  in  the  morning  :  let  me  feel 
your  pulse."  His  wife  looked  out  of  the  window.  u  Sa 
rah,"  said  he,"  "  perhaps  Mr.  Harding  would  like  to  lie 
down."  I  said  hastily,  that  I  felt  better  than  usual  and 
had  no  present  need  of  repose.  To  turn  the  conversation 
another  way,  I  asked  the  young  woman  what  was  going 
on  in  the  town.  "Nothing  specially  interesting  I  believe, 
—  O,  yes,  there  is  an  exhibition  of  wax  figures,  this  eve 
ning,  at  the  tavern  :  see  "  continued  she  pointing  toward 
a  building,  "  the  room  is  already  lighted."  I  proposed 
going  there,  and  all  assented.  Elizabeth  (the  young 
woman)  walked  with  me,  and  on  our  arrival  at  the  hall 
we  found  it  nearly  filled  with  people.  The  wax  figures 
stood  around  against  the  walls,  and  a  rope  was  drawn 
across  in  front  to  keep  the  spectators  at  a  proper  distance. 
There  were  Queen  Caroline  and  the  bewhiskered  Ber- 
garai,  Commodores  Hull  and  Decatur,  some  three  or  four 
Indian  chiefs,  a  sleeping  infant,  and  other  figures  large 
as  life ;  all,  save  the  sleeping  infant,  with  open  staring 
eyes.  The  proprietor  or  exhibitolf  beginning  at  one  end 
of  the  row,  walked  round,  stopping  a  minute  before  each 
figure,  and,  in  an  automatic  way,  told  its  name  and 
deeds.  The  story  of  Queen  Caroline  and  Bergami  was 
not  of  the  kind  called  edifying. 

u  What "  said  I  "  can  bring  so  many  people  to  such  an 
exhibition  as  this?  "  "  What,"  replied. my  companion 
"  brings  you  and  I  hither  ?  "  She  stooped  to  pick  up  a 
glove  she  had  dropped :  a  young  man,  looking  the  while 
very  intently  at  Queen  Caroline,  stepped  as  she  rose  upon 
the  skirt  of  her  robe :  it  tore  across  the  back  so  that  a 


O  PE  BB  L  EBROOK. 

part  hung  trailing  on  the  floor.  The  young  man  stam 
mered,  looked  confused,  and  uttered  such  apology  as  he 
could  at  the  moment  frame.  "  It  is  no  great  matter," 
said  she,  "  it  was,  I  know,  a  mere  accident."  Her  aunt 
pinned  the  tattered  garment  together,  while  the  husband 
inquired  how  the  rent  happened,  if  it  could  be  repaired, 
who  was  the  perpetrator,  and  so  forth.  Elizabeth  an 
swered  in  few  words  to  all  his  questions,  except  that  she 
would  not  designate  the  young  man  who  had  done  the 
deed.  I  noticed  soon  that  my  companion,  though  she 
had  spoken  slightingly  of  the  rent  in  her  dress,  seemed 
not  quite  at  ease ;  and  when  I  proposed  leaving  the  room 
she  assented.  I  was  glad  to  go,  for,  as  the  reader  may 
well  believe,  I  found  the  living  being  at  my  side  more  in 
teresting  than  any  waxen  image.  "  Now,"  said  I,  as  we 
stepped  out  into  the  open  air,  "  your  dress  looks  as  well 
by  moonlight  as  though  it  were  quite  perfect." 

"  I  hope  so,"  she  replied,  "  you  men  often  ridicule  us 
for  what  you  call  our  care  for  appearances  :  yet  is  there 
any  thing  more  abhorrent  to  you  than  a  dirty,  slovenly 
woman."  "Perhaps  not;  but  surely  one  may  be  clean  and 
neat  without  being  very  thoughtful  about  the  color  and 
form  of  dress  :  it  is  thift  inward  purity  that  is  to  be  valued." 
"  How,"  replied  she  briskly,  "  how  would  you  know  of 
what  is  within  were  it  not  by  the  outward  act  ?  Who  is 
the  brave  man  if  not  he  of  brave  deeds  ?  Does  not  the 
inward  sickness,  even,  make  an  appearance?"  "A 
truce,"  cried  I,  "  a  truce,  I  believe  you  are  partly  right.'' 
"  You  men,"  continued  she,  "  go  abroad  with  your  great 
projects  for  the  good  of  society ;  you  are  very  noisy  with 
your  general  government  and  your  universal  laws  :  the 
newspapers  are  full  of  your  doings,  or  your  attempts  to 
do,  and  what  comes  of  it  all  ?  Every  true  woman,  on  the 


THE     PRESCRIPTION,     ETC.  7 

contrary,  keeps  herself  and  hers  neat,  and  her  own  house 
in  order ;  and  see  what  a  world  it  is  !  mainly  from  what 
you  call  our  care  for  appearances,"  She  laughed  as  she 
ended,  and  I,  fearful  of  another  allusion  to  my  illness,  of 
which  I  began  to  be  ashamed,  did  not  wish  to  continue 
the  subject.  After  a  short  interval  of  silence,  I  asked 
why  she  had  not  pointed  out  to  her  uncle  the  young  man 
who  had  torn  her  dress  1  "  Because,  "  she  replied,  "  the 
young  man  needed  no  lecture  on  his  carelessness,  and 
my  uncle  seizes  on  every  opportunity  to  inculcate  what 
he  calls  a  moral.  The  accidental  breaking  of  a  piece  of 
earthen  ware  is,  to  him,  an  opportunity  to  lecture  on  the 
duty  of  carefulness  :  in  short  he  will  never  let  the  action 
itself,  in  its  simplicity,  speak ;  but  must  ever  give  us 
words,  words." 

I  tarried  here  a  week,  and  had  only  occasional  returns 
of  my  old  lassitude.  The  uncle  with  his  moralizing,  was 
sometimes  tedious  ;  but  the  niece  and  her  aunt  were  no 
wise  so  :  this  one  was  a  busy,  somewhat  too  bustling 
housewife,  but  that  one  was  never  hurried  ;  she  found 
time  for  all  her  duties  and  pleasures  :  she  did  much  with 
out  proclamation ;  every  thing  in  my  sleeping  room  was 
in  perfect  order  :  —  not  to  make  a"  long  story  of  a  short 
matter,  I  found  in  her,  or  fancied  I  found,  all  that  should 
be  in  woman ;  even  some  interesting  little  caprices  were 
not  wanting  ;  such  as  refusing  to  walk  with  me  when  the 
weather  was  unexceptionable,  and  being  more  sociable 
with  the  schoolmaster  than  I  thought  fair.  When  I  was 
quite  alone,  I  thought  of  Elizabeth,  and  when  she  was 
present,  I  slipped  into  a  chair  near  her  and  talked  in  a 
low  tone  :  in  one  word  there  were  symptoms  of  an  ail 
ment  known  to  all  the  world.  She  did  not  flatter  me 
much  ;  but  I  was  not  without  hope,  for  she  now  and  then 


f 


8  PEBBLE BRO  OK . 

showed  her  faith  in  my  capability.  "  Were  you  a  very 
poor  man,"  she  said  one  day,  "  there  would  be  more  hope 
of  you  :  if  you  had  to  work  for  your  daily  bread  you 
would  have  better  appetite  for  it.  There  is  really  some 
thing  in  you ;  if  you  could  only  in  any  way  be  set  to 
work  !  Activity.it  seems  to  me,  is  the  one  thing  needful." 

I  would  willingly  have  staid  longer  here,  but  I  felt  that 
I  had  no  right ;  and  my  host,  having  learned  that  1  felt 
little  interest  in  the  many  societies  of  which  he  was 
member,  began  to  consider  me  a  'cumberer  of  the  ground 
and  to  wish  me  away  ;  or,  at  any  rate,  such  were  my 
suspicions  ;  and  I  departed. 

While  I  travel  on  toward  Pebblebrook,  the  reader 
shall  learn  all  that  is  needful  (perhaps  a  little  more)  of 
the  origin  of  the  Harding  family.  — Be  not  alarmed,  good 
friend  ;  we  will  not  go  far  on  the  way  toward  Adam;  not 
even  so  far  as  Noah  and  his  sons.  I  will  only  show 
its  transition  from  the  old  world  to  the  new,  and  note  its 
first  appearance  here. 


THE     HARDING     FAMILY.  9 


CHAPTER    II. 


THE      HARDING     FAMILY. 

OLD  John  Harding  was  an  Englishman  of  the  toughest 
kind  ;  unyielding,  impenetrably,  he  had  few  social,  kindly 
qualities,  and  therefore  few  friends  in  the  little  town  on 
the  coast  of  Cornwall,  where  he  dwelt.  He  was  a  fisher 
man  of  indomitable  courage  and  perseverance.  Cold  nor 
storm  kept  him  on  shore  ;  when  his  little  boat  could  live 
on  the  rough  sea,  he  could.  Like  a  water  dog,  he  shook 
the  salt  spray  from  his  shaggy  coat,  and  to  the  threatening 
frowns  of  a  stormy  sky  he  showed  a  front  of  hardy  defi 
ance.  In  sturdy  endurance  of  outward  storms  he  resem 
bled  the  adamantine  rocks  of  his  own  sea-shore ;  in 
warring  with  such,  therefore,  he  did  well  enough  j  but 
not  so  well  when  he  dealt  with  his  fellow-men.  It  avail 
ed  him  little  that  he  brought  more  fish  to  land  than  his 
fellows,  for  his  obstinacy  in  demanding  what  he  called 
the  real  value  of  the  article  he  offered  for  sale,  often  left 
his  fish  to  spoil  on  his  hands.  In  an  overstocked  market 
he  was  the  most  unsuccessful  of  salesmen  ;  for  he  had 
neither  learned  to  play  with  circumstances,  nor  to  yield 
cheerfully  to  the  inevitable.  The  life  of  him  was  a 
gnarly  scrub-tree  rooted  in  rocky  ground,  wearing,  in 
sunshine  and  in  storm,  the  same  look  of  crabbed  indiffer- 


10  PEBBLEBROOK. 

ence.  By  his  side  stood  one  of  the  same  species  which 
great  Nature  had  transplanted  there.  His  wife  was  a 
hard-working  woman,  doing  much  unnecessarily,  indeed 
uselessly.  Whatsoever  her  hands  found  to  do,  she  did 
with  all  her  might ;  but  there  was  no  skillful  adaptation 
of  means  to  ends  ;  a  matter  as  requisite  in  the  business 
of  a  household  as  in  the  government  of  a  nation. 

This  hard-handed  couple  had  one  son,  not  unlike  his 
father,  but  of  somewhat  more  genial  nature.  Through 
many  generations  the  Being  of  the  father  had  come  to  him 
under  sternest  pressures,  and  in  him  had  reached  the  last 
fortress  of  humanity,  which  is  obstinate  endurance  of  evil ; 
further,  in  that  direction,  it  could  not  go  and  still  be  hu 
man.  In  the  son,  therefore,  this  Being  moved  slightly  in 
an  opposite  direction,  and  began  to  expand.  He  looked 
out  on  the  world  from  his  narrow  cave,  and  the  soul  of 
him  yearned  for  freedom.  In  that  little  town  there  was 
talk  of  a  land  in  the  west,  where  the  poorest  man  could 
be  free.  Ignorance  is  ever  prone  to  magnify  the  distant 
good;  and  this  America,  in  the  minds  of  these  rude  peo 
ple,  hovered  as  a  heaven  on  earth.  The  young  man's 
eyes  of  hope  turned  hitherward,  and  he  told  his  wishes  to 
his  parents.  The  old  man  pondered  the  matter  long  in 
grimmest  silence,  and  at  last  said,  "Go,  boy;  I  can  give 
you  little  more  than  liberty  to  follow  your  own  will.  If 
there  be,  for  the  poor  man,  a  better  land  than  this,  seek 
it  out ;  a  worse  one  you  can  hardly  find.  I  have  borne 
much  in  this  life,  and  I  can  bear  more ;  I  can  part  with 
you  ;  you  may  go." 

There  was  little  preparation  for  this  long  journey  over 
the  sea,  for  the  worldly  goods  of  the  young  man  were 
mostly,  like  those  of  the  beast  of  the  field,  on  his  back. 

The  hard  rock,  when  smitten  by  Aaron's  rod,  yielded 


THE     HARDING     FAMILY.  11 

water  ;  and  beneath  the  stroke  of  affliction  these  hard 
natures  melted.  There  were  tears  and  wailing  in  that 
fisherman's  hut  when  the  son  departed,  for  the  parents 
had  little  hope  of  meeting  him  again  on  earth.  Their 
life  lay,  as  it  were,  behind  them,  a  barren,  rocky  waste ; 
but  the  young  man's  lay  before  him,  and  he  promised  to 
visit  them  again. 

The  parting  over,  he  sailed  across  the  ocean  in  a  little 
vessel,  the  smallest  of  those  which  venture  on  a  voyage 
so  long.  There  were  storms  and  calms ;  adverse  winds 
and  fair  ;  wearisome  days  and  nights,  and  a  longing  for 
the  pleasant  land.  The  snow-covered  shores  of  New 
England  at  length  appeared ;  but  they  looked  all  too 
desolate  for  a  heaven  on  earth  :  and  James  Hardinor  land- 

*  a 

ed  in  the  principal  sea-port  without  the  greeting  of  a 
friend.  In  the  streets  busy  men  walked  to  and  fro  on 
their  many  errands  ;  but  no  one  regarded  him.  The 
smoke  of  many  a  chimney  proclaimed  a  cheerful  fireside, 
but  for  him  there  was  no  home.  He  found  however  an 
humble  dwelling-place  suited  tb  his  means  of  payment, 
and  looked  around  him,  day  after  day,  on  prospects  no 
wise  cheering  ;  for  at  this  inclement  season  the  day- 
laborer  found  little  employment.  His  little  stock  of 
money  was  soon  exhausted,  and  want,  in  its  sternest  shape, 
stared  him  in  the  face  ;  but  he  was  not  one  to  die  with 
out  an  effort.  He  wandered  away  to  a  little  settlement 
on  the  sea-shore,  and  found  work,  the  boon  he  asked  for, 
in  a  shipyard.  In  few  years  he  learned  to  use  skillfully 
the  carpenter's  tools,  and  spent  no  hour  idly ;  not  the  day 
only,  but  part  of  the  night,  was  devoted  to  toil.  Such 
unceasing  labor  is  seldom  without  returns;  and  James, 
seeing  that  his  earnings  would  pay  the  way  of  more  than 
himself,  married.  He  built  a  rude  man's  nest,  and  at 


12 


PEBBLEBKOOK. 


stated  intervals,  say  of  two  years  or  less,  little  Hardings, 
one  after  another,  came  wondrously  into  being ;  not  weak 
and  puny  things,  but  quite  tough,  knotty,  gnarly,  without 
beauty  or  grace,  but  strong.  James  Harding  and  his 
wife,  in  their  old  age,  saw  eight  of  their  brood  run 
ning  out  of  doors  mainly  intent  on  the  gratification  of 
animal  appetites  ;  always  working,  but,  for  the  most  part, 
towards  some  selfish  end.  The  three  daughters  changed 
their  family  name,  in  a  very  common  way,  and  we  lose 
sight  of  them  here.  They  are  little  streamlets,  these 
daughters,  always  running  off  from  one  recognised,  visible 
life-stream  into  another  ;  thus  giving  to  the  whole  of  hu 
man  life  a  general  character  ;  making  it  a  human  family. 
In  the  attainment  of  worldly  wealth  it  may  be  said  that 
three  of  these  brothers  prospered ;  but  with  increasing 
wealth  much  evil  unfolded  itself.  The  blessed  man  is 
not  he  who  can  get  possession  of  many  outward  things, 
but  he  who  can  use  well  what  he  gets,  be  it  little  or  much. 
These  Hardings  were  grasping  in  getting,  selfish  in  using, 
obstinate  in  keeping  all  kinds  of  victuals  ;  for,  in  truth, 
all  they  got  had  value  in  their  eyes  only  because  it  could 
be  converted  into  such.  Call  them  not  sinners  to  be  con 
demned  without  mercy  ;  consider,  rather,  how  their  life 
had  come  to  them  through  want  of  every  kind,  and  pity 
them.  A  stern,  narrow  moralist,  looking  only  on  the 
then  present,  and  seeing  the  hard  grasping  nature  of  those 
men,  might  have  said  it  had  been  better  they  had  never 
been  born.  I  cannot  think  so  ;  for  to  me  is  given  to  see 
another  present.  Did  not  the  Hardings  of  this  day  all 
come  from  those  obstinate,  hateful  old  men  ?  indeed  from 
the  tough  old  man  of  the  little  town  on  the  coast  of  Corn 
wall,  who  caught  fish  in  stormy  weather,  and  had  few 
friends?  How  much  lies  wrapped  up  in  the  small-seem- 


THE     HARDING     FAMILY.  13 

ing  present  thing  provided  it  have  life  in  it,  especially 
Human  Life ! 

I  remember  my  paternal  grandfather  well  ;  a  dark- 
browed,  hard-featured  man,  not  given  to  smiles.  His 
talk  was  short,  sharp,  and  to  the  purpose ;  ever  about 
business.  He  had  in  youth  acquired  the  faculty  of  read 
ing,  which,  in  his  old  age,  he  seldom  used  except  to  learn 
somewhat  of  the  ocean  tides  ;  for  he  owned  many  fishing 
boats  and  smacks.  Of  all  the  heavenly  bodies  he  valued 
only  the  moon,  because  she  presides  over  the  weather, 
and  the  coming-in  of  the  waters.  The  almanac-maker 
was  his  Sir  Oracle,  and  the  Almanac  itself  his  Bible,  con 
taining  true  knowledge.  The  possessions  of  one  of  his 
brothers  lay  contiguous  to  his  own,  and  I  hardly  need 
say  that  they  quarrelled  often  ;  for  the  business  of  their 
lives  was  getting,  and  each  wanted  all ;  at  last  they  be 
came  bitter  enemies  and  were  estranged  from  each  other. 
The  other  rich  brother  lived,  fortunately,  at  greater  dis 
tance,  and  so  came  not  often  in  collision  with  the  others. 
Of  all  these  brothers  the  poor  ones  were,  I  believe,  hap 
piest. 

Think  not,  reader,  that  these  old  men  —  I  speak  of  my 
grandfather  and  his  quarrelsome  brother  —  were  alto 
gether  bad.  They  loved  their  own  children,  but  not 
wisely ;  they  were  not  unkind  to  any  children ;  nor  yet 
to  the  laborers  they  employed  :  plenty  of  work  these  last 
had,  but  also  plenty  of  food.  My  grandmother  was  truly 
a  cooking  woman,  and  all  who  came  into  the  house  must 
eat.  I  remember  a  large  round  table  of  pine  wood  cover 
ed  with  oil-cloth,  and  great  earthen  platters,  and  enormous 
pitchers  ;  these  filled  with  home-brewed  beer,  and  those  — 
but  there  is  no  need  of  telling  all  my  recollections.  They 
2 


14  PEEBLES  ROOK. 

are  all  gone,  these  old  Hardings;  they  lived  by  hard  work 
and  hard  ways,  in  a  time  when  men  could  get  much  by 
such  work  and  ways.  They  were  nowise  accomplished 
in  the  art  of  legerdemain  ;  the  evil  of  their  lives  was  open 
evil,  which  never  yet  corrupted  the  world,  and  never  can. 
Peace  be  with  them. 


P  E  BBLEBROOK. 


CHAPTER   III. 


PEBBLEBROOK. 

WITH  what  mingled  sensations  does  one,  after  long  ab 
sence,  revisit  his  native  place.  The  spirit  of  our  child 
hood  rises  then,  and  in  glad  or  sad  tones  speaks  to  us  ;  of- 
tenest  with  a  mixture  of  both.  The  promise  of  Life's 
spring-time,  has  it  been  fulfilled  ?  Not  yet :  its  fulfilment  is 
not  in  Time:  its  fulfilment  lies  hid  in  unknown  Eternity. 
Happy  he  whose  life  has  led  to  Belief,  for  in  that  alone 
can  peace  be  found. 

Before  noon,  of  a  pleasant  sunny  day,  I  ascended  one  of 
the  hills  which  encircle  Pebblebrook.  The  forest  road 
wound  round  the  hill  about  midway  between  base  and 
summit ;  and  at  intervals,  between  the  tree-tops,  I  saw 
the  church  steeple,  a  section  of  the  village  here,  another 
there,  and  smoke  rising  which  told  of  human  life.  Soon, 
where  the  road  ran  along  the  brink  of  a  precipice,  the 
whole  village  appeared,  lying  there  peacefully  below  me 
in  the  rich  sunlight :  a  little  farther  on  the  dark  forest 
hid  it  again.  It  was  as  when  in  solitary  hours  one  turns 
towards  the  long  hidden  Past,  which  fitfully,  in  vision, 
appears  and  disappears  through  the  thick  forest  of  the 
Present. 

The  valley  in   which  Pebblebrook  lies,   is   about  ten 


:--    - 
: 


e, 


QtfD 


-_. 


it  -Aeq?»  •»  waite  agaui. 


7.   ,_- 


18  PEBBLEBROOK. 

The  meeting-house  (for  purposes  sacred  and  profane) 
is  a  large  misshapen  building,  of  a  dirty  yellow  color,  with 
a  clumsy  steeple ;  and  is  capable  of  containing  double 
the  whole  population  of  Pebblebrook.  How  distinctly  is 
the  interior  of  that  old  church  now  present  to  my  mind  ! 
its  large  square  pews  unpainted,  except  that  one  in  the 
broad  aisle  ;  its  huge  posts  supporting  the  galleries  ;  and 
the  naked  crumbling  beams  of  the  unceiled  roof.  I  see 
the  venerable  Pastor  in  the  high,  rudely  carved  pulpit,  on 
a  wintry  sabbath,  standing  beneath  the  immense  sound 
ing-board,  which,  suspended  by  a  small  iron  rod,  seemed 
threatening  to  fall  and  crush  him.  His  long  white 'hair, 
parted  on  the  top  of  his  head,  fell  on  each  side  of  his  thin 
pale  face ;  and  his  mild  blue  eye  beamed  with  good  will 
to  men.  His  neat,  but  thread-bare,  suit  of  black,  was 
covered  by  an  old  grey  surtout,a  bandanna  handkerchief 
was  wrapped  round  his  neck  over  his  clean  white  cravat, 
and  his  hands  were  clothed  in  striped  woollen  gloves. 
Here  his  sweet,  clear,  but  tremulous  voice  uttered  the 
fervent  prayer  to  Him,  the  Father  of  all,  and  proclaimed 
the  great  but  simple  truths  of  the  gospel  to  his  listening 
flock.  His  prayers  were  such  as  prayers  should  be  from 
the  finite  to  the  Infinite,  from  the  mortal  to  the  Immor 
tal  ;  simple,  and  devoid  of  that  argument  and  course  of 
reasoning  which  make  many  of  the  public  prayers  of  the 
present  day  not  unlike  sermons  from  man  to  his  fellows. 
The  Lord's  Prayer,  which  he  often  used,  seemed  in  his 
mouth  no  foreign  thing,  but  one  which  arose  from  his  in 
most  being.  His  sermons  contained  no  metaphysical 
disquisitions,  no  hair-breadth  distinctions  no  far-reaching 
speculations ;  but  in  simplicity  of  mind  and  heart  he 
seized  on  the  highest  truths  of  the  Gospels,  and  in  ear 
nestness  he  enforced  them.  "  My  mission,"  he  would 


19 

sometimes  say,  "  is  to  the  heart  of  man,  rather  than  to 
his  head."  Much  good  as  this  single-hearted  old  man 
did  in  the  pulpit,  he  did  more  out  of  it ;  by  the  way 
side,  in  the  harvest-field,  and  by  the  firesides  of  his  pa 
rishioners.  He  was  often  seen  in  the  house  of  mourning, 
and  sometimes  in  the  house  of  mirth.  With  the  bereav 
ed  he  wept ;  and  thus  did  he  creep  into  the  sufferer's 
heart  and  soothe  it  by  the  presence  of  the  spirit  of  Hu 
manity,  which  in-  its  highest  sense,  is  the  Spirit  of  God. 
In  the  house  of  mirth,  though  he  sometimes  checked 
boisterous  merriment,  he  always  promoted  cheerful  glad 
ness  ;  and  the  young  felt  their  enjoyments  hallowed  by 
his  presence.  —  The  slab  of  stone  on  the  little  mound 
called  his  grave,  tells  a  truth  :  "  He  is  not  here  ;  he  is 
risen."  To  dwell  on  the  appearance  and  demeanor  of 
the  flock  gathered  within  this  shepherd's  fold,  might  be 
tedious :  quiet  they  were,  and,  for  the  most  part,  atten 
tive  listeners.  Of  'Squire  Stout,  however,  the  most  im 
portant  personage,  a  few  words  may  be  pardoned.  The 
'squire  came  early  to  church  for  example's  sake ;  and 
used  to  stand  in  his  pew,  before  the  services  commenced, 
bowing  condescendingly  to  those  of  the  congregation  who 
came  up  the  broad-aisle.  He  bent  forward  reverently  in 
prayer -time,  and  significantly  nodded  his  approbation  of 
particular  passages  in  the  sermon.  He  had  a  powerful, 
not  unmusical  voice  :  but  not  a  good,  or  rather  not  a 
quick  ear;  and  always  seemed  uncertain  of  the  tune 
when  the  choir  commenced  :  he  therefore  seldom  joined 
in  the  first  verse  ;  but  of  the  second  he  would  sing  the 
last  line,  and  of  the  third  he  usually  sang  the  conclud 
ing  half:  thus  he  went  on  becoming  more  and  more 
master  of  the  tune,  till  at  the  close  of  the  hymn  he  would 


20  PEBBLEBROOK. 

pour  forth  the  whole  stanza  with  a  triumphant  look  and 
manner. 

But  this  good  Pastor  and  'Squire  Stout,  and  the  other 
great  men  of  that  day  have  passed  away  as  have  also  ma 
ny  little  ones  :  but  still  the  village  stands  there  as  I  have 
depicted  it.  The  waters  in  the  little  stream,  run  spark 
ling  along  sea-bound  as  of  old,  and  ever  in  clouds  they 
come  again  performing  their  appointed  circuit.  The 
elm  tree,  that  looks  calmly  down  on  the  talkers  of  this 
day,  looked  even  so  upon  their  fathers  :  but  this  too  shall 
disappear.  All  things  pass  away  from  human  sight  and 
come  again  unrecognised.  The  parts  change,  the  whole 
remains  :  and  this  village  of  Pebblebrook  is  an  epitome 
of  the  world. 

I  rode  along  the  main  street  partially  recognised  now 
and  then  by  an  inhabitant  of  about  my  own  age  ;  though 
to  the  greater  part  of  the  population  I  was  a  stranger. 
Turning  into  one  of  the  cross  roads,  I  was  soon  seated 
in  the  home  of  my  childhood,  in  the  very  house  where 
I  first  came  to  the  light  of  day  and  the  consciousness  of 
this  existence.  My  parents  were  not  there  :  they  have 
long  since  disappeared  and  gone  — Who  can  say  whither  7 
But  my  uncle  John  and  his  widowed  sister  dwell  there 
and  they  gave  me  warm  welcome.  The  evening  passed 
away  in  varied  talk  about  old  friends  and  family  matters, 
of  which  there  is  no  need  to  speak  here. 


UNCLE     JOHN. 


CHAPTER   IV. 


UNCLE     JOHN. 

THE  following  day  was  a  rainy  one,  and  we  staid  with 
in  doors. 

Uncle  John,  after  breakfast,  carried  me  to  his  room ; 
and,  saying  he  must  give  a  few  hours  to  the  repairing 
of  some  agricultural  tools,  added,  pointing  to  his  books, 
"  there  are  some  companions  of  the  kind  that  are  never 
intrusively  tiresome.  If  one  does  not  speak  instructively, 
you  may,  without  the  imputation  of  incivility,  put  him 
aside  and  take  another :  you  are  hard  to  suit  if  none 
please."  Truly  there  was  variety  enough ,  good,  bad, 
and  indifferent :  but,  unfortunately,  almost  all  books 
came  to  me  under  the  latter  class.  I  had  read  for  amuse 
ment  and  to  pass  away  the  time,  all  the  modern  literature 
which  came  in  my  way,  until  my  mind  had  lost  its  tone  and 
books  had  become  wearisome.  Men  qualified  to  speak  on 
the  subject  of  health,  say  that  mind  and  body  act  recipro 
cally  each  on  the  other.  Agents  of  temperance  societies 
have  shown,  conclusively  enough,  the  effects  of  ardent 
spirits  on  the  human  body,  and  ultimately  on  the  intel 
lect  :  nothing,  it  is  often  said,  can  be  more  injurious 
than  an  habitual  daily  use  of  stimulants.  How  much 
of  the  mental  drink  which  comes  to  us  bottled  up  in 


22  PEBBLEBROOK. 

books  is  of  that  same  nature  ?  Modern  literature,  on  one 
side,  runs  parallel  to  the  Distillery,  and,  on  the  other 
side  to  the  Graham  system.  What  are  your  intensely  in 
teresting,  modern  novels,  but  a  kind  of  Blue  Ruin  made  of 
treacle  ?  One  who  drinks  of  the  same,  morning,  noon  and 
night  shall  be  pale  in  the  face,  and  tremble  when  called 
to  do  a  thing.  When  one,  by  persuasion  of  friends,  or 
an  innate  desire  for  health,  turns  to  the  bran-bread  of  ser 
mons  and  moral  essays,  he  fares  little  better,  and  goes 
about  with  cadaverous  aspect.  Howsoever  this  may  be, 
books  had,  as  I  said,  become  wearisome  to  me  ;  and  I 
had  no  great  appetite  for  the  feast  which  Uncle  John 
set  before  me.  I  looked  at  the  titles,  opened  some  of 
those  which  were  unknown  to  me,  read  a  sentence  here 
andythere,  and  returned  them  to  their  places.  I  drew  a 
chair  to  the  window  and  looked  out  on  the  scene :  there 
was  a  thick  drizzle  approaching  to  rain.  My  old  feel 
ings  crept  over  me  with  forebodings  of  suicide.  As  a 
drowning  man  catches  at  straws  I  caught  up  a  pamphlet 
from  the  table  :  it  was  an  old  number  of  the  Foreign  Re 
view  :  I  opened  it  and  read  : 

"  As  little  can  we  prognosticate,  with  any  certainty,  the  future 
influences  from  the  present  aspects  of  an  individual.  How  many 
Demagogues,  Croesuses,  Conquerors,  fill  their  own  age  with  joy  or 
terror,  with  a  tumult  that  promises  to  be  perennial  ;  and  in  the 
next  age  die  away  into  insignificance  and  oblis'ion  !  These  are  the 
forests  of  gourds  that  overtop  the  infant  cedars  and  aloe-trees,  but 
like  the  Prophet's  gourd,  wither  on  the  third  day.  What  was  it  to 
the  Pharaoh's  of  Egypt,  in  that  old  era,  if  Jethro  the  Midianitish 
priest  and  grazier,  accepted  the  Hebrew  outlaw  as  his  herdsman  ? 
Yet  the  Pharaoh's,  with  all  their  chariots  of  war,  are  buried  deep 
in  the  wrecks  of  time  ;  and  that  Moses  still  lives,  not  among  his 
own  tribe  only,  but  in  the  hearts  and  daily  business  of  all  civilized 
nations.  Or  figure  Mahomet,  in  his  youthful  years,  '  travelling  to 
the  horse-fairs  of  Syria!  '  Nay,  to  take  an  infinitely  higher  in- 


TJNCLEJOHN.  23 

stance,  who  has  ever  forgotten  those  lines  of  Tacitus,  inserted  as  a 
small,  transitory,  altogether  trifling  circumstance  in  the  history  of 
such  a  potentate  as  Nero  ?  To  us  it  is  the  most  earnest,  sad,  sternly 
significant  passage  that  we  know  to  exist  in  writing  :  '  So,  for  the 
quieting  of  this  rumor,*  Nero  judicially  charged  with  the  crime, 
and  punished  with  most  studied  severity,  that  class,  hated  for  their 
general  wickedness,  whom  the  vulgar  call  Christians.  The  orig 
inator  of  that  name  was  one  Christ,  who,  in  the  reign  of  Tiberius, 
suffered  death  by  sentence  of  the  Procurator,  Pontius  Pilate.  The 
baneful  superstition,  thereby  repressed  for  the  time,  again  broke 
out,  not  only  over  Judea,  the  native  soil  of  that  mischief,  but  in  the 
city  also,  where  from  every  side  all  atrocious  and  abominable  things 
collect  and  flourish.'  t  Tacitus  was  the  wisest,  most  penetrating 
man  of  his  generation;  and  to  such  depth,  and  no  deeper,  has  he 
seen  into  this  transaction,  the  most  important  that  has  occurred  or 
can  occur  in  the  annals  of  mankind. 

"  Nor  is  it  only  to  those  primitive  ages,  when  religions  took  their 
rise,  and  a  man  of  pure  and  high  mind  appeared  not  merely  as  a 
teacher  and  philosopher,  but  as  a  priest  and  prophet,  that  our  obser 
vation  applies.  The  same  uncertainty,  in  estimating  present  things 
and  men,  holds  more  or  less  in  all  times;  for  in  all  times,  even  in, 
those  which  seem  most  trivial  and  open  to  research,  human  society 
rests  on  inscrutably  deep  foundations ;  which  he  is  of  all  others 
the  most  mistaken,  who  fancies  he  has  explored  to  the  bottom. 
Neither  is  that  sequence,  which  we  love  to  speak  of  as  '  a  chain  of 
causes,'  properly  to  be  figured  as  a  '  chain,'  or  line,  but  rather  as 
a  tissue,  or  superficies  of  innumerable  lines,  extending  in  breadth 
as  well  as  in  length,  and  with  a  complexity,  which  will  foil  and 
utterly  bewilder  the  most  assiduous  computation.  In  fact,  the 
wisest  of  us  must,  for  by  far  the  most  part,  judge  like  the  simplest; 
estimate  importance  by  mere  magnitude,  and  expect  that  what 
strongly  affects  our  own  generation,  will  strongly  affect  those  that 
are  to  follow.  In  this  way  it  is  that  conquerors  and  political  revo 
lutionists  come  to  figure  as  so  mighty  in  their  influences  ;  whereas, 
truly  there  is  no  class  of  persons  creating  such  an  uproar  in  the 
world,  who  in  the  long  run  produce  so  very  slight  an  impression 
on  its  affairs.  When  Tamerlane  had  finished  huilding  his  pyramid 
of  seventy  thousand  human  skulls,  and  was  seen  '  standing  at  the 

*  Of  his  having  set  fire  to  Rome.  t  Tacit.  Annal.  xv.  44. 


24  PEBBLEBROOK. 

gate  of  Damascus,  glittering  in  steel,  with  his  battle-axe  on  his 
shoulder' till  his  fierce  hosts  filed  out  to  new  victories  and  new 
carnage,  the  pale  on-looker  might  have  fancied  that  nature  was  in 
her  death-throes ;  for  havoc  and  despair  had  taken  possession  of 
the  earth,  the  sun  of  manhood  seemed  setting  in  seas  of  blood.  Yet, 
it  might  be,  on  that  very  gala-day  of  Tamerlane,  a  little  boy  was 
playing  ninepins  on  the  streets  of  Mentz,  whose  history  was  more 
important  to  men  than  that  of  twenty  Tarmerlanes.  The  Tartar 
Khan,  with  his  shaggy  demons  of  the  wilderness,  'passed  away 
like  a  whirlwind,'  to  be  forgotten  forever;  and  that  German  artisan 
has  wrought  a  benefit,  which  is  yet  immeasurably  expanding  itself, 
and  will  continue  to  expand  itself  through  all  countries  and  through 
all  times.  What  are  the  conquests  and  expeditions  of  the  whole 
corporation  of  captains,  from  Walter  the  Pennyless  to  Napoleon 
Bonaparte,  compared  with  these  '  moveable  types '  of  Johannas 
Faust  ?  Truly,  it  is  a  mortifying  thing  for  your  conqueror  to  re 
flect,  how  perishable  is  the  metal  which  he  hammers  with  such 
violence  ;  how  the  kind  earth  will  soon  shroud  up  his  bloody  foot 
prints  ;  and  all  that  he  achieved  and  skillfully  piled  together  will 
be  but  like  his  own  <  canvass  city'  of  a  camp  ;  this  evening  loud 
with  life,  to-morrow  all  struck  and  vanished,  '  a  few  earth-pits  and 
heaps  of  straw  !  '  For  here,  as  always,  it  continues  true,  that  the 
deepest  force  is  the  stillest ;  that,  as  in  the  Fable,  the  mild  shining 
of  the  sun  shall  silently  accomplish  what  the  fierce  blustering  of 
the  tempest  has  in  vain  essayed.  Above  all,  it  is  ever  to  be  kept 
in  mind,  that  not  by  material  but  by  moral  power,  are  men  and 
their  actions  governed.  How  noiseless  is  thought !  No  rolling  of 
drums,  no  tramp  of  squadrons,  or  immeasurable  tumult  of  baggage 
wagons,  attends  its  movements  ;  in  what  obscure  and  sequestered 
places  may  the  head  be  meditating,  which  is  one  day  to  be  crowned 
with  more  than  imperial  authority ;  for  Kings  and  Emperors  will 
be  among  its  ministering  servants;  it  will  rule  not  over,  but  in,  all 
heads,  and  with  these  its  solitary  combinations  of  ideas,  as  with 
magic  formulas,  bend  the  world  to  its  will !  The  time  may  come, 
when  Napoleon  himself  will  be  better  known  for  his  laws  than  for 
his  battles  ;  and  the  victory  of  Waterloo  prove  less  momentous  than 
the  opening  of  the  first  Mechanic's  Institute." 

The  page  seemed  to  speak  to  me,  and  I  read  the  arti 
cle  through.     I  was  looking  over  different  passages  of  it 


UNCLE     J  OHN.  25 

again  when  Uncle  John  entered  the  room.  "  What  is 
this  ?  "  I  asked  ;  "  who  wrote  it  ?  "  "  That  ?  "  said  he, 
looking  over  ray  shoulder,  "  that  is  something  more  than 
mere  words ;  the  writer  is  clearly  a  Believer  ;  he  has 

Faith   founded  on    knowledge.      His  name  is I 

have  heard  it,  but  it  has  escaped  me.  It  is  my  firm  be 
lief,"  he  continued,  "  that  the  present  general  unbelief  in 
religious  matters  is,  in  a  great  measure,  owing  to  theo- 
logical  schools ;  a  system  has  been  formed  of  teaching 
Religion  by  rote ;  certain  logical  arguments  and  the 
evidence  of  the  miracles  are  continually  used  :  While 
the  questions,  Is  the  History  true  ?  Is  the  evidence  of  the 
performance  of  the  miracles  complete  ?  ever  return  to 
the  Doubter  unanswered,  indeed  logically  unanswerable. 
There  is,  it  seems  to  me,  only  one  way  for  a  man  unac 
quainted  with  ancient  literature  to  read  the  Bible ;  to 
read  it  as  he  would  another  book,  even  as  he  would  a 
work  of  imagination,  a  creation  of  Genius  ;  then  without 
being  troubled  by  questions  of  its  matter-of-fact  truth,  let 
him  consider  the  character  of  Jesus  of  Nazareth.  Its 
all-surpassing  beauty  and  majesty  can  hardly  fail  to  dawn 
upon  him,  revealing,  more  or  less  clearly  as  he  is  fitted 
for  the  revelation,  the  Eternal.  The  internal  evidence  of 
Christianity  is  the  life  of  Christ.  Did  any  man,  without 
actual  prototype,  conceive  this  Life,  and  thus  word-paint 
it  to  the  hearts  of  millions  ?  That,  surely,  were  a  miracle 
greater  than  any  on  record.  The  man  who  can  believe 
this  is  more  credulous  than  I  — .  "  He  ceased  ;  his  lip 
quivered,  and  tears  filled  his  eyes.  He  rose,  walked  to 
the  window,  and  stood  there  some  minutes  in  silence  ; 
then  turning  round  he  said,  "  One  is  now  and  then  be 
trayed  into  something  like  this ;  but  for  the  most  part  I 
avoid  all  talk  called  religious  ;  little  good  comes  of  it." 
3 


26  PEEBLES  KOOK. 

Our  conversation  turned  to  common  matters ;  we  were 
cheerful,  even  merry,  and  made  fair  weather  within  doors 
though  clouds  made  it  dark  without. 

Biography  is  said  to  be  the  most  interesting  of  all 
studies.  True  enough  it  is  so.  One  can  hardly  ride  an 
hour  in  a  stage-coach  without  a  desire  to  know  somewhat 
of  his  fellow-passengers,  were  it  only  their  names.  Does 
any  one  of  them  say  a  word  which  has  meaning  in  it, 
straightway  we  are  eager  to  know  something  more  of  him ; 
where  does  he  live  ?  is  he  married  ?  what  business  does 
he  drive  ?  and  so  forth  to  the  end  of  that  long  category. 
Seeing  that  this  love  of  Biography  is  so  universal  I  will 
place  here  some  particulars  of  Uncle  John's  life.  Of  his 
childhood  I  shall  say  next  to  nothing.  We  have  glanced 
into  his  early  home,  and  have  seen,  clearly  enough,  that 
there  was  little  there  to  suit  the  purpose  of  any  modern 
lecturer  on  education.  One  fact,  however,  in  regard  to 
that  home,  it  may  be  well  to  note  j  this,  namely  ;  the  life 
of  his  parents  was  not  a  lie  ;  they  did  not  pretend  to  be 
what  they  were  not.  They  gave  no  studied  precepts,  no 
exhortations  to  virtue  and  piety  ;  but  there  was,  perhaps, 
in  their  open  life,  with  all  its  defacements,  a  lesson  which 
imprinted  itself  on  the  open  mind  of  the  child.  The  all- 
important  lesson  for  a  child  is  the  unconscious,  not  the 
conscious  one ;  therefore,  every  man  who  would  do  good 
must  be  true. 

The  conscious,  exterior  education  of  this  boy  was  such 
as  one  might  get  in  the  common  schools  of  that  day  ,* 
and  while  yet  a  boy  he  found  a  place  in  the  counting 
room  of  a  city  merchant.  When  of  age  he  commenced, 
with  borrowed  capital,  commercial  business  on  his  own 
account.  For  some  few  years  he  was  called  prosperous, 
and  seemed  to  be  on  the  road  to  wealth ;  but  the  gain- 


UNCLE    JOHN. 

fever,  so  prevalent  in  this  country,  came  upon  him,  and 
he  clutched  more  than  he  could  hold  together.  The 
fabric  of  his  commercial  greatness,  ill-built  on  weakest 
basis,  fell  one  day  with  a  fearful  crash,  and  grumbling 
claimants  gathered  up  the  fragments.  He  stood  there, 
short  time,  amid  the  ruins  almost  doubting  that  he  had 
survived  the  fall.  Yesterday,  he  called  much  his  own.  To 
day  he  had  nothing.  It  was  a  time  of  deep  and  painful 
thought :  he  was  a  Bankrupt :  a  thing  (as  he  now  says) 
of  deepest  meaning  to  those  who  can  understand  it.  What 
should  he  now  do  ?  His  magic  wand  of  credit  was 
broken ;  should  he  get  another  and  build  again  ?  or 
what  should  he  do  1  —  He  struggled  long  with  himself: 
at  intervals  he  saw  plainly  enough,  what  he  had  often 
painfully  suspected,  that  there  had  never  been  a  reality 
in  his  possessions.  —  He  struggled  long  I  say  ;  but 
there  is  no  need  to  say  much  about  it ;  many  men  have 
struggled  ;  all  men  must  more  or  less. 

One  somewhat  serious  passage  in  Uncle  John's  life,  the 
Reader  shall  have  as  from  himself.  "  In  the  midst  of 
my  other  troubles  sickness  of  body  came  upon  me  while 
I  was  journeying  toward  my  father's  house.  One  of  my 
fellow-passengers,  who,  during  the  day,  had  shown  some 
sympathy  for  my  condition,  invited  me,  when  the  coach 
stopped  at  his  dwelling-place,  to  alight  and  pass  the  night 
beneath  his  roof:  at  first  I  declined  his  offer  with  thanks  : 
but  when  he  urged  me,  said  he  was  a  physician,  and  that 
my  state  of  health  was  such  that  another  night  passed  in 
the  stage  coach  might  be  fatal  to  me,  I  yielded.  Soon  I 
was  in  a  comfortable  bed  :  but  all  the  kind  man's  skill 
and  care  availed  not  to  extirpate  the  fever  which  had 
seized  me ;  it  would  have  its  way.  For  many  days  I  was 
for  the  most  part  insensible  to  all  around  me ;  my  con- 


23  FEBBLEBROOK. 

sciousness  of  existence  was  vague  and  dreamlike.  My 
being  spread  itself  out  and  assumed  horrid  forms  which 
were  unlike  myself  and  yet  I  was  in  them.  In  the  wild 
visions  of  delirium  Time  and  space  were  almost  annihi 
lated.  Far  regions  and  near  lay  alike  before  me.  The 
Past,  the  Present  and  the  Future  were  there  all  mingled 
wildly  together.  The  mimic  ship,  which  I  launched  on 
the  little  brook  which  runs  babbling  by  the  home  of  my 
childhood,  changed,  as  it  left  my  infant  hand,  into  a 
huge  ark  upon  a  roaring  sea  :  Devils  looked  out  of  it 
grinning  and  yelling  at  me,  a  decrepit  old  man.  The 
flower-covered  arbor  which  enticed  me  from  afar  became, 
as  I  entered  it,  a  slimy  pit  filled  with  hissing  serpents. 
Nor  was  the  counterpart  entirely  wanting :  often  in  the 
wild  hurly-burly,  amid  the  shouts  of  fiends,  a  voice  of 
angel  sweetness  was  heard,  calling  me  to  follow  ;  and 
when  I  fell  into  the  yawning  abyss  an  angel-hand  caught 
and  upheld  me.  —  But  why  attempt  to  describe  this  ? 
I  can  re-collect  little  and  re-member  less  :  it  is  all  as  a 
dream,  vague,  shadowy,  mist-covered,  stretching  itself  out 
on  every  side. 

After  this  fearful  revelation  of  the  great  deep  which  is 
beneath  every  man's  being,  the  actual,  world,  which 
spread  itself  again  before  me,  had  new  charms.  The 
physician's  daughter  hovered  around  my  couch  :  when 
she  spoke  I  heard  again  the  angel-voice.  Day  after  day 
this  fair  being  flitted  about  my  pillow  and  cheered  me  by 
kind  words  and  looks.  She  said  nothing  about  piety  and 
religion  and  gratitude  to  God,  but  her  every-day  life  was 
a  revelation  of  the  Good  and  Merciful  :  I  felt  that  a 
Great  Spirit  dwells  in  Humanity  and  that  the  Eternal 
One  is  no  mere  traditionary  Being.  My  recovery,  owing 
to  extreme  weakness  of  body  and  an  unquiet  mind,  was 


UNC  LE     J  OHN .  29 

long  delayed.     To  my  lovely  nurse  I   grew,  as  I  needs 
must,  confidential,  and  revealed    to   her   my  inmost   sor 
rows.     She  listened,    pitied   me,    and   said  that  life  had 
other  things  than  those  I  had  lost.     One  day,  when  I  was 
alone,  the  significant  events  of  my  whole  life  passed  before 
me,  as  in  a  Review  the  separate  corps   march  from  their 
several  quarters,  take  their  proper  places  on  the  field  and 
form  one  whole.     I  saw  with  some  clearness  that  this  Ex 
istence  is  not  a  mere  series   of  disconnected  events,  fol 
lowing  each  another  in  the  order  of  Time,  and  each  anni 
hilated  as  it  falls  into  the  Past ;  but  that  the  substance  of 
all  that   has   been,    still    is,   and    must  ever  be.  —  Fanny 
came  in,  asked  me  if  I  needed  aught,  seated  herself  near 
me  and  was  busy  with  her  sewing  work.       My  hand  was 
lying  on   the  bedside :  a    small   warm    one   fell  upon  it. 
My  blood,    which    had   long   moved   slowly   its  wonted 
course,  now  rushed  through  every   channel  with   a  ting 
ling   sensation.     I   pressed  the    hand   which  was  within 
mine :  she  rose,  bent  over  me,  touched  my  forehead  with 
her  lips,  and  left  the  room.     Blissful   hours  followed  :  I 
felt  that  I  was  not  alone,  the   consciousness  that  one    so 
pure  loved  me,  gave  hope  and  strength.     Fanny  did   not 
return  till  twilight  crept  over  the  summer  day.  ^  This  is 
a  story  that  cannot  be   further  told  ;  in  truth   it    is  told  : 
we  loved.     When   my  health  was  sufficiently  established, 
I  went  on  my  way  again  a  happy  man.     The  father  had 
given  his  consent  with  such  prudential  reservations  as  be 
came  a  father.  —  Some  months  I  busied  myself  in  settle 
ment  of  my  affairs,  and  was  right  glad  when  each  credi 
tor  had  taken  his  due,  that   a  little  yet  remained  for  my 
self.     Visions    of  a   home  and  a  guardian  angel  hovered 
around  me ;  which  fled  when  a  letter  came  to  me   from 
Fanny's  father.     She  was  sick  and  there  was  little  hope 
3* 


30  PEBBLEBROOK. 

of  her  recovery.  I  flew  on  such  wings  as  1  could  get 
but  arrived  too  late  ;  she  was  dead.  A  simple  message 
which  she  left  for  me,  a  sad  yet  soothing  one,  I  can  never 
forget." 

To  a  careless  observer  Uncle  John's  life,  since  this 
last  bereavement,  would  seem  little  noteworthy  ;  neverthe 
less  could  we  see  into  it  we  should  find  much  worth  see 
ing,  as  indeed  there  is  in  the  life  of  every  man  even  the 
meanest.  He  lingered  awhile  near  her  grave  and  then 
came  hither  to  Pebblebrook,  a  subdued  and  sorrowing 
man :  dark  days  and  nights  passed  over  him  :  but  at 
times  that  simple  message  of  his  lost  one  "  sad  yet  sooth 
ing  "  had  deep  meaning  ;  deeper  doubtless  to  him  than  it 
could  have  to  us  who  know  not  the  soul  that  uttered  it. 
He  got  him  a  little  farm,  and  grew  busy,  cheerful,  even 
joyful :  some  of  his  townsmen  think  him  half  crazed. 


AUNT     MARY.  31 


CHAPTER   V. 


AUNT      MARY. 

I  HAD  not  been  many  days  in  Pebblebrook  before  a 
note  from  Aunt  Mary  invited  me  to  visit  her.  Few  peo 
ple  can  refuse  Aunt  Mary's  invitations:  one  does  not 
feel  inclined  to  plead  a  severe  headache,  previous  en 
gagement,  or  want  of  time  as  an  excuse  :  certainly  I  felt 
no  such  inclination,  for  one  of  the  joyfullest  recollec 
tions  of  my  childhood  is  of  that  sunny  face  and  gladsome 
voice. 

At  early  morn  I  was  in  the  saddle  for  a  ride  to  Na- 
took,  which  is  not  far  from  Pebblebrook.  As  1  rode 
along  some  particulars  of  my  aunt's  love  story  gathered 
themselves  together  in  my  mind, 

A  better  creature  than  my  Aunt  Mary  never  lived : 
how  it  happened  that  she  remained  in  singleness  of  life 
till  the  age  of  thirty-eight  I  know  not.  Was  it  because 
her  kindness  flowed  forth  so  continually  in  all  directions, 
toward  every  living  thing,  that  no  man's  vanity  was  min 
istered  to,  and  therefore  no  little  Hop-o'-my-thumb  could 
say  to  himself;  she  thinks  me  greatest  and  best  of  man 
kind  ?  or  are  men  born  fools  ?  —  Human  affairs  are, 
however,  mostly  inexplicable  on  any  known  doctrine  of 
causality  ;  and  I  may  say  that  Destiny,  in  this  case  very 
kind,  sent  my  Uncle  Thomas  to  Natook. 


32 


PEBBLEBROOK. 


The  westerly  side  of  the  town  of  Natook  forms  a  cres 
cent,  being  skirted  by  meadows  which  join  the  upland 
in  that  form.  Now  Aunt  Mary  lived  at  the  southern  ex 
tremity  of  the  town,  and  when  Uncle  Thomas  came 
to  Natook  he  took  lodgings  at  the  other  horn  of  the 
crescent ;  unfortunately  it  may  seem,  but  quite  otherwise 
as  will  be  shewn.  A  foot-path  leads  across  the  meadows 
from  one  end  of  the  town  to  the  other,  and  about  midway 
it  passes  over  a  little  spot  of  well-wooded  upland,  which 
stands  there,  in  the  waving  meadow,  like  a  little  island 
in  the  ocean. .  A  large  brook  flows  through  the  meadows, 
and  meeting  this  spot  of  upland  in  its  course  divides  into 
two  smaller  streams,  which  run  along  on  either  side  of 
the  upland  and  unite  again  at  its  termination.  The  foot 
path  is  carried  over  these  two  streams  by  bridges  formed 
of  two  logs  only.  This  island  is  a  beautiful  spot:  a  grove 
of  oaks,  and  pines,  intermingled  covers  it ;  and  in  sum 
mer  wild  flowers  of  many  a  form  and  hue  grow  there.  I 
have  been  thus  particular  in  this  description  because  this 
path  brought  my  Uncle  and  Aunt  together,  and  this  little 
island,  aided  by  the  two  bridges,  helped  them  to  marry. 
Aunt  Mary  believed  that  morning  walks  preserved  the 
freshness  of  youth  :  therefore,  in  fair  weather,  she  rose 
with  the  sun  and  walked  abroad.  The  path  I  have  de 
scribed  commenced  at  the  door  of  her  own  house ;  and 
her  usual  walk  was  across  the  meadow  to  the  grove  on 
the  island,  where  she  gathered  a  few  wild  flowers  and 
then  turned  homeward.  One  spring  morning  in  her 
walk  through  the  grove,  she  met,  somewhat  to  her  sur 
prise,  a  stranger  apparently  about  forty  years  of  age  ; 
rather  below  the  common  height  and  a  little  inclined  to 
corpulence.  He  was  dressed  with  scrupulous  neatness  in 
drab  pantaloons,  buff  vest  and  blue  coat.  His  well  pol- 


AUNT     MARY.  33 

ished  boots  were  drawn  over  his  pantaloons  and  reached 
nearly  to  his  knees :  from  their  tops,  in  front,  dangled 
tassels  of  black  silk.  He  carried  a  gold-headed  cane, 
walked  rather  briskly,  and  looked  intently  at  Aunt  Mary, 
who  threw  her  eyes  to  the  ground  as  he  passed  her. 

Here  I  must  do  what  I  should  perhaps  have  done  be 
fore  ;  describe  my  aunt.  She  was  about  thirty -seven,  but 
appeared  younger ;  and  being,  as  I  said,  one  of  the  best 
creatures  in  the  world,  she  had  a  sweet,  good  humored 
expression  of  face,  which  if  it  be  not  in  itself  beauty,  is 
certainly  better  than  some  kinds  of  beauty.  Aunt  Mary 
was  rather  large  ;  a  little  inclined  to  enbonpoint  ;  and 
perhaps  —  why  should  I  hesitate  to  say  it?  she  was  in 
fact  quite  fat.  She  was  dressed  that  morning  in  a  green 
silk  walking  dress,  white  stockings,  and  rather  thick, 
high  shoes.  She  wore  a  small  close-fitting  cottage  bonnet 
with  very  neat  trimmings,  and  a  green  veil.  In  her  hand 
she  carried  a  parasol,  for  she  was  careful  of  her  complex 
ion  which  is  fair. 

Soon  after  the  stranger  passed  Aunt  Mary  she  turned 
from  her  path  into  the  grove  to  gather  some  of  her  favor 
ite  flowers.  In  a  few  minutes  she  saw  him  retracing  his 
steps  at  a  rapid  pace,  and  something  within  my  Aunt 
whispered  that  he  was  desirous  of  overtaking  her  ;  but  lit 
tle  did  she  then  think  that  this  stranger,  with  the  gold- 
headed  cane,  would  ever  be  my  uncle  Thomas. 

The  next  morning  Aunt  Mary  was  very  glad  to  see  the 
sun  rising  in  an  unclouded  sky  ;  and  she  walked  forth 
with  more  than  her  usual  alacrity.  Again  she  met  the 
stranger  and  returned  to  her  home  a  little  pensive  ;  a  state 
of  mind  very  unusual  with  her. 

The  next  Sunday  my  Aunt  saw  this  gentleman  at 
church  and  learned  his  name  :  Mr.  Thomas  Harden  : 


04  PEBBLEBROOK. 

strange!  she  said  to  herself:  my  own  name  is  not  very 
different  :  Harding  and  Harden  are  certainly  very  much 
alike. 

I  thought  to  trace  step  by  step,  the  progress  of  their 
acquaintance  and  subsequent  attachment :  but  so  gradual 
were  their  approaches,  so  almost  imperceptible,  that  to  do 
so  would  impose  a  tedious  task  on  both  writer  and  reader. 
Enough  it  will  be  to  say,  that  they  met  often  in  their 
walks  and  at  last  at  the  house  of  a  friend,  where  a  formal 
introduction  took  place.  Afterwards  in  their  walks  they 
said  :  good  morning :  a  pleasant  day :  and  such  like 
things  to  each  other. 

One  day,  however,  they  made  quite  a  stride  toward  in 
timacy,  and  it  happened  thus  :  Aunt  Mary  left  home  a 
little  earlier  than  usual,  or  Uncle  Thomas  a  little  later 
—  I  know  not  which,  —  and  they  met  at  the  bridge 
which  being  nearest  his  lodgings,  may  be  named  Uncle 
Thomas's  bridge.  When  he  appeared  my  Aunt  was  just 
turning  homeward,  and  they  walked  along  side  by  side. 
After  a  rather  embarrassing  silence  he  said  :  "  Miss  Har 
ding  I  have  been  so  long  in  this  town  that  I  begin  to 
feel  attached  to  it."  My  Aunt  did  not  hear  distinctly 
what  he  said,  and  asked  awkwardly  ;  "  Did  you  speak 
of  an  attachment,  sir  ?" 

"  Yes,  — no  —  Madam  ;  I  said  I  began  to  feel  attach 
ed  to  this  town." 

They  soon  arrived  at  the  bridge  on  Aunt  Mary's  side, 
and  she  appeared  to  hesitate  as  though  afraid  to  venture 
across  it. 

"  Madam:  "  said  Uncle  Thomas:  "  the  logs  are  wet 
and  slippery,  let  me  assist  you." 

"  I  believe  it  is  a  little  unsafe :  "  she  replied. —  May  thnt 
little  lie  be  forgiven  to  my  good  Aunt !  it  is  surely  of  the 


AUNT      MARY.  35 

whitest  kind;  she  had  crossed  that  bridge  a  thousand 
times  and  never  once  thought  of  danger  ;  but  now  she 
took  his  proffered  hand  and  somewhat  timidly  walked  over. 
She  thanked  Uncle  Thomas  in  her  sweetest  voice  and 
manner.  He  had  now  crossed  the  brook  which  had  been, 
heretofore,  the  bound  of  his  walk  :  it  was  the  Rubicon  of 
his  fate  and  he  went  home  with  my  Aunt.  On  the  way 
he  told  her  that  he  should  leave  the  town  on  the  morrow, 
as  some  business  required  his  attention  in  a  far  distant 
place.  My  Aunt,  with  some  degree  of  embarrassment, 
said  :  "  but  you  will  return,  Mr.  Harden?  "  "  I  would  could 
I  believe  that  any  here  wished  me  to  do  so."  Aunt  Mary 
was  silent.  He  spoke  again  :  "  I  shall  be  detained  abroad 
till  Spring,  but  then  I  would  come  here  again  if —  he 
ceased  awkwardly  enough,  and  she  almost  involuntarily 
said  :  "  Certainly,  Mr.  Harden,  I  shall  be  glad  to  see 
you." 

"  Then,"  he  replied,  "  1  shall  come  again  :  "  and  hav 
ing  now  arrived  at  my  Aunt's  door,  he  hurriedly  took 
leave.  That  next  winter  was  a  long  one  to  Aunt  Mary  : 
when  it  was  gone  and  Spring  came,  she  grew  impatient. 
The  month  of  April  passed  away,  and  my  Aunt  began  to 
pine.  In  May,  however,  on  the  tenth  day  of  May  —  I 
can  fix  the  day  exactly,  because  I  happened  to  find  in  an 
old  memorandum  book  of  my  Aunt's  a  record  of  the  fact 
—  On  the  l()th  day  of  May,  Uncle  Thomas  returned. 

We  will  pass  over,  in  silence,  all  that  occurred  from 
the  time  of  his  arrival  till  July.  Let  not  the  Reader  re 
gret  it,  there  was  nothing  worth  telling,  though  the  vil 
lage  gossips  were  busy  with  their  half  speeches  and 
knowing  looks. 

Aunt  Mary  was  approaching  the  crisis  of  her  fate,  and 
she  had  made  abundant  preparation  for  it.  The  terms 


30  PEBBLEBROOK. 

of  the  capitulation  were  drawn  up  long  before  there  was 
a  demand  to  surrender,  yea,  even  before  the  siege  com 
menced. 

Here,  in  justice  to  my  Aunt,  let  me  remark,  that 
though  she  may  seem  too  forward  in  this  affair,  yet  she 
was  so  only  in  appearance.  Uncle  Thomas  was  deep  in 
love,  and  she,  with  the  quickness  of  her  sex  in  such  cases, 
saw  it.  She  saw  too,  that  he  was  fettered  by  bashfulness 
and  felt  awkward,  as  all  do  whose  first  love-making  hap 
pens  late  in  life  :  My  Aunt,  I  say,  saw  his  difficulties, 
and,  impelled  by  her  double  share  of  that  kindness  so 
natural  and  becoming  in  woman,  she  encouraged  him. 
She  saw  his  distress  caused  by  the  fetters  of  bashfulness, 
and  sought  to  strike  them  off.  Was  my  Aunt  wrong  ? 
A  virtue  in  excess  is  said  to  be  a  fault :  my  Aunt's  fault 
is  excessive  kindness. 

At  the  close  of  a  hot  day  in  July,  Uncle  Thomas  walk 
ed  with  my  Aunt  to  the  grove  on  the  island.  When  they 
arrived  there  she  said  : 

"  Oh,  how  warm  it  is.  I  declare  I  am  almost  dead." 
"  The  heat  is  indeed  oppressive,  Miss  Harding,  but  here 
is  a  nice  cool  place  beneath  these  trees  on  our  right :  — 
let  us  go  there." 

She  consented,  and  was  soon  seated  on  the  smooth 
greensward,  in  a  little  natural  arbor  formed  by  vines 
which  ran  up  the  trees  and  interlaced  in  the  branches 
overhead.  Uncle  Thomas  rambled  away  to  gather  flow 
ers.  When  he  returned  she  had  removed  her  bonnet 
and  was  leaning  back  against  an  old  oak  tree ;  one  foot 
drawn  up  beneath  her  robe ;  about  half  the  other  being 
visible.  Uncle  Thomas  thought  her  beautiful.  He  sat 
down  near  her  and  took  off  his  hat.  Gray  was  intermin 
gled  with  his  coal  black  hair  —  about  half  and  half  :  my 


ATJNTMARY.  37 

Aunt  thought  the  mixture  becoming.  She  wore  a  white 
cap  fitted  nicely  to  her  head  and  covering  the  sides  of  her 
face.  It  had  a  narrow  frill  in  front  and  was  tied  beneath 
her  chin  by  a  ribbon.  1  should  be  unwilling  to  affirm 
that  a  single  white  hair  was  hidden  by  that  cap,  for  on  her 
forehead,  on  either  side,  appeared  a  fold  of  glossy  brown, 
the  end  of  which  was  carried  back  beneath  her  cap  and 
showed  itself  again  on  her  neck  just  behind  and  below 
her  ear. 

My  Uncle  and  Aunt  looked  each  into  the  other's  eyes, 
and  then  looked  towards  the  ground  and  were  silent, 
Their  hearts  were  full  enough  but  they  did'nt  know  how 
to  begin  the  outpouring;  or  rather  Uncle  Thomas  was 
at  fault,  for  the  beginning  was  his  part.  Aunt  Mary, 
who  could  not  be  still,  busied  herself  destroying  the  flow 
ers  which  the  good  man  had  gathered  for  her. 

"  Miss  Harding,  how  long  is  it  since  we  first  met  in 
this  grovel  "  It  was  not  a  bad  beginning,  though  appa 
rently  far  off,  and  she  replied  ? 

"  It  is  more  than  a  year,  sir,  I  think." 

"  Yes,  Miss  Harding,  it  is  fourteen  months  to  day  —  I 
recollect  now  't  was  the  2nd  day  of  May.  Is  it  not 
strange  that  we  should  be  here  again  together  on  the 
same  day  of  the  month  ?  " 

"It  is,  "  said  my  Aunt,  though  she  could  see  nothing 
very  strange  in  it :  but  her  heart  was  not  in  the  negative 
mood.  Another  long  silence  followed.  A  bird  in  the 
tree  above  them  sang  cheeringly,  and  Uncle  Thomas 
took  courage, 

"  Miss  Harding." 

"  Sir,"  said  my  Aunt. 

"  Miss  Harding  did  it  never  strike  you  as  a  remarka 
ble  circumstance,  that  our  names  are  very  much  alike  ?  " 
4 


38  PEBBLE  BE OOK. 

"  Yes,  it  has,  Mr.  Harden,  often,  and  I.  remember  it 
occurred  to  me  when  I  first  heard  "  —  She  stopped  ;  she 
was  confessing  too  much. 

"  My  dear  Miss  Harding  —  the  change  would  indeed 
be  very  slight  from  Harding  to  —  " 

His  voice  faltered  ;  he  looked  up  to  my  Aunt :  —  their 
eyes  met  and  were  instantly  cast  down  again.  They  fell 
on  a  rose-bush  which  stood  before  them.  On  that  bush 
were  two  full  grown  roses  which  decay  had  slightly 
touched  ;  but  just  beneath  grew  three  little  fresh-looking 
buds.  'T  was  better  than  a  whole  chapter  on  love.  My 
Aunt  blushed,  and  on  the  end  of  my  Uncle's  nose  ap 
peared  a  small  red  spot,  which  grew  till  it  covered  his 
whole  face.  This  could  not  last.  My  Uncle  Thomas 
moved  nearer  to  my  Aunt  and  took  her  hand  in  his :  a 
large  tear  gathered  in  my  Aunt's  right  eye,  and  fell  on, 
and  trickled  in  between,  their  clasped  hands.  He  drew 
a  long  breath  —  there  was  the  symptom  of  a  sigh,  but  he 
manfully  suppressed  it.  Their  faces  approached  each 
other  —  pshaw  !  't  would  be  folly  to  tell  more  :  those  who 
are  married  know  all  about  it,  and  those  who  are  not, 
should  not  have  this  knowledge  till  they  get  it  experi 
mentally. 

The  setting  sun  filled  the  whole  grove  with  a  golden 
light;  the  leaves  fluttered  scarce  audibly,  and  many  birds 
made  music  on  the  air.  When  my  Uncle  and  Aunt 
walked  homeward,  hand  in  hand,  a  Bobo'  Link  poured 
forth  his  merry  song.  • 

I  had  not  seen  my  Aunt  since  her  wedding  day,  and 
felt  some  curiosity  to  learn  how  she  ruled  her  household. 
I  rode  toward  the  house  from  the  north  :  it  seemed,  from 
this  point  of  view,  strangely  altered ;  and  still  more  so, 
when,  following  the  road  which  wound  around  the  hill  in 


AUNT     MARY.  «>» 

front,  I  came  near  it  on  the  southerly  side.  The  house, 
when  I  last  saw  it,  had  form  and  comeliness  ;  but  two  addi 
tions  to  the  original  structure,  one  on  the  southerly  side  of 
the  front  and  the  other  on  the  northerly  side  of  the  rear,  now 
made  the  ground  plan  of  it  not  unlike  the  letter  Z.  Aunt 
Mary  appeared  at  the  door  as  I  dismounted  followed  by 
her  young  ones,  two  healthy  roguish  looking  boys  and 
a  beautiful  little  girl  of  about  four  years.  After  the  usual 
friendly  questions  and  replies,  I  looked  out  at  the  win 
dow.  "  You  have  a  fine  prospect  here,  Aunt :  this 
slope  in  front,  the  level  meadow  broken  only  by  that 
clump  of  trees,  threaded  by  that  silver  stream,  and  bound 
ed  by  the  forest  on  the  opposite  side,  make  as  pretty  a 
view  as  one  could  desire." 

"  Yes,"  she  replied,  "  that  clump  of  trees  reminds  me 
often  of  former  days :  sometimes,  by  way  of  joke,  I  tell 
your  Uncle  it  should  be  named,  Confession  Grove."  In 
cheerful  chat,  which  there  is  no  need  to  record  here,  a 
half  hour  passed  away.  The  children,  at  first  somewhat 
restrained  by  my  presence,  grew  noisy ;  and  my  Aunt, 
calling  to  the  eldest,  said,  "  Thomas  do  you  want  to  go 
out  with  Ludo  and  Mary  ?  "  The  boy  gave  affirmative 
answer  and  they  were  soon  away. 

"  I  keep  the  children  out  of  doors  great  part  of  the 
day  in  fair  weather  :  it  makes  them  healthy  and  I  think 
they  enjoy  themselves  better  than  when  cooped  up  in  the 
house." 

I  laughed,  and  told  her  she  had  not  changed  much 
since  her  marriage. 

"  No,"  she  replied,  "  [  was  too  old  for  that.  Husband 
says  that  the  children  have  their  own  way  too  often  ;  but 
he  is  partly  mistaken  ;  I  rule  them  in  an  indirect  way, 


40  PEEBLEBROOK. 

more  than  he  thinks.  There  he  comes,  good  soul ;  I  am 
afraid  he  has  walked  too  far  this  hot  day." 

She  drew  an  arm-chair  from  the  corner  and  gave  him  a 
thin  coat,  at  the  outer  door,  as  he  entered.  Presently 
one  of  the  children  came  in  crying  followed  by  the 
others.  Tom  had  thrown  sand  in  his  eyes,  he  said. 

"  That  boy  is  always  in  mischief:"  said  the  father: 
"  Why  do  you  do  such  things,  Thomas  1  " 

"  I  don't  think  the  boy  meant  to  do  it;"  said  my 
Aunt.  "Come  here,  my  son,"  she  got  a  wet  cloth  and 
washed  his  eyes,  talking  the  while  : 

"  How  was  it,  Ludo,  did  you  throw  any  thing  at  your 
brother  1  don't  cry."' 

"No,"  said  the  sobbing  boy,  "  we  were  playing  and  he 
threw  the  dirt  right  into  my  face."  Here  Thomas  broke 
in  with  his  story.  The  mother  soon  pacified  them  and 
asked  little  Mary  how  it  was.  It  appeared  that  both 
were  in  the  wrong.  It  was  one  of  those  childish  affairs 
begun  in  sport,  ending  in  earnest ;  of  common  occur 
rence.  Aunt  Mary  contrived  a  little  errand  for  the  old 
est  boy :  when  he  returned  the  little  quarrel  was  forgot 
ten  and  the  brothers  were  on  good  terms  again.  During 
the  boy's  absence  my  Aunt  had  seated  herself  near  her 
husband,  and  they  spoke  together  in  an  under  tone. 
Some  hasty  expressions  escaped  him  from  which  I  infer 
red  some  matter  in  dispute  between  them.  She  rested 
her  arm  on  the  back  of  his  chair  and  gently  moved  her 
fingers  among  his  gray  hairs.  "  Well,  well,"  said  he 
smiling,  u  I  suppose  you  must  have  your  way  as  you  al 
ways  do." 

The  day  passed  pleasantly  over,  and,  toward  night  I 
returned  to  Pebblebrook  musing  much,  on  the  way,  of 


AUNT     MAR  Y.  41 

the  worth  of  a  good  nature.  I  fell  into  a  reverie,  and 
images  of  things  in  varied  procession  passed  through  my 
mind.  My  cheerless  home  with  its  money  paid  house 
keeper  ;  a  lighted  hall  filled  with  wax-figures  ;  a  young 
woman  with  a  torn  dress,  flitted  along  ;  and  at  last  a 
schoolmaster,  who  annoyed  me  not  a  little, 


42  P EBBLEBR  0  OK . 


CHAPTER     VI. 


THREE        GREAT        MEN. 

WHEN  one,  after  long  absence,  returns  to  his  natal 
village,  he  finds  it  the  same  and  yet  not  the  same.  Many 
new  life-threads  have  mysteriously  run  into  the  web  of  the 
Visable,  many  old  ones  have  broken  and  fallen  out.  The 
wondrous  fabric  has  widened,  and,  in  some  degree, 
changed  color  ;  yet  one  sees  that  the  stuff  is  mostly  the 
same.  In  reflective  mood  one  asks  whence  comes  all 
this,  whither  goes  it  1  In  such  mood  one  turns  to  the 
memorials  of  the  Departed  and  questions  the  place  of 
skulls.  The  sphere  of  action  for  the  living  man  is  surely 
in  the  midst  of  Life ;  yet  the  grave-stones  of  the  dead 
have  doubtless  a  stern  lesson  for  him  who  will  read  it. 
The  gift  of  the  living  to  the  dead  one  is  always  a  stone, 
were  it  an  urn  for  his  ashes  or  a  tablet  to  his  memory. 
What  more  can  we  give  him  ?  The  sum  of  his  life  is 
reckoned  up,  and  the  account  given  in  ;  it  is  finished,  it 
is  done.  Truly  the  Present  can  do  nothing  for  the  Past ; 
but  for  the  Future,  how  much  !  And  yet  perhaps  it  is 
not  well  to  consider  this  too  closely.  Thought  makes 
action  difficult ;  one  gets  troubled  in  consideration  of 
consequences,  and  the  most  persevering  searcher  after 
causes  must  too  often  stand,  Bruce-like,  at  the  source  of 


THREE     GREAT     MEN.  43 

his  Nile,  weary  and  disappointed.  Quite  enough  of  these 
somewhat  serious  thoughts ;  they  tend  to  gloom,  and 
gloom  can  profit  neither  man  nor  woman. 

When  one,  as  I  said,  after  long  absence  returns  to  the 
dwelling-place  of  his  childhood,  he  finds  it  somewhat 
changed;  he  turns  then  to  the  place  of  graves,  where  he 
may  find  some  record  of  what  has  been.  Here,  in  Peb- 
blebrook,  the  burial-place  is  on  a  hill  near  the  meeting 
house  ;  where  one  can  stand,  as  it  were,  among  the  dead, 
and  look  down  on  the  living.  How  busy  is  all  there  be 
low,  and  here  how  still !  Verily,  Life  is  a  great  thing. 
Go  where  you  will,  in  whatsoever  mood,  Shakspeare,  the 
universal  Man,  shall  speak  to  you  ;  and  here,  meditating 
among  the  tombs,  I  was  reminded  of  that  saying,  "  Some 
men  are  born  great,  some  achieve  greatness,  and  some 
have  greatness  thrust  upon  them."  The  history  of  three 
great  men,  whose  bones  lie  here,  is  somewhat  illustrative 
of  that  same. 

Magnanimous  Stout  was  the  son  of  Peter  Stout ;  and, 
in  order  to  show  how  the  son  inherited  greatness,  some 
thing  must  be  said  of  the  father.  Mr.  Stout,  whose  time 
and  strength  had  been  given  to  the  attainment  of  wealth 
in  a  small  Atlantic  sea-port,  had  at  the  age  of  forty  ac 
quired  much  ;  and  if  no  man  there  had  been  richer  than 
himself  he  had  been,  perhaps,  content;  but  alas  for  him; 
one  grew  higher,  spread  wider,  and  overshadowed  him. 
Caesar  said,  He  would  rather  be  the  first  man  in  a  village 
than  the  second  in  Rome.  Mr.  Stout,  in  this  at  least, 
was  like  Caesar  ;  therefore  he  converted  all  his  property 
into  ready  money,  and  joined  himself  to  a  little  band  of 
adventurers,  who  purposed  forming  a  settlement  in  the 
then  wild  interior.  The  little  company,  under  his  guid 
ance,  journeyed  far  and  deliberated  often.  At  last  they 


44  PEBBLEBROOK. 

pitched  their  tents  in  a  sunny  valley  watered  by  a  pebbly 
brook,  and  abode  there.  In  this  little  community  Peter 
Stout,  being  the  only  rich  man,  had  no  brother  near  his 
throne.  One  secret  source  of  sorrow,  however,  still  re 
mained ;  he  was  childless ;  but  at  last  his  wife,  in  this 
sunny  valley,  became  fruitful,  and  lo,  one  morning,  an 
other  Stout  came  sprawling  to  the  light  of  day.  Great 
was  the  rejoicing  and  great  the  son.  Magnanimous,  (so 
was  the  child  christened,)  being  suspended  in  a  handker 
chief  tied  to  a  steelyard,  weighed,  before  he  was  twenty- 
four  hours  old,  fourteen  pounds  avoirdupois.  This  kind 
of  greatness  continued  ;  for  he  grew  up  the  biggest  boy 
in  the  village,  and  became  a  man  of  portly  presence. 
This,  however,  is  only  physical  greatness  ;  the  greatness 
I  purposed  to  trace  is  that  founded  on  public  opinion. 
The  mother  of  Magnanimous,  a  weak  and  indulgent 
woman,  supplied  him  liberally  with  apples  and  cake  ;  and 
large  as  the  boy  was  by  nature,  he  appeared  still  larger 
when  he  waddled  forth  to  school,  the  immense  pockets  of 
his  jacket  and  trowsers  stuffed  with  good  things.  Mag 
nanimous  gave  to  his  school-fellows  all  that  he  could  not 
eat  himself;  and  thus  got  a  reputation  for  liberality,  not 
quite  unmerited,  as  the  world  goes.  Apples  and  cake 
within  the  stomach,  and  his  big  fists  applied  without,  were 
irresistible.  In  justice  to  Magnanimous  Stout — I  love 
to  repeat  that  name,  there  is  a  kind  of  greatness  in  the 
very  sound  of  it  —  in  justice  to  Magnanimous  Stout,  how 
ever,  it  should  be  said  that  he  seldom  used  his  big  fists  ; 
he  was  too  fat,  too  lazy,  and  withal  too  good  natured  to 
fight  often.  lie  was  wont  to  seat  himself  on  the  stump 
of  a  tree  in  the  centre  of  the  play-ground,  and  while  the 
other  boys  were  actively  engaged  in  their  rough  sports, 
he  would  laugh,  clap  his  hands,  and  shout.  Here  too  he 


THREE     GREAT     MEN.  45 

dealt  out  his  apples  and  cake,  and  this  stump  was  named 
the  throne  of  Magnanimous.  With  the  schoolmaster 
this  boy  was  a  favorite  for  obvious  reasons ;  and  in  the 
distribution  of  rewards  and  medals  the  brightest  always 
decorated  the  person  of  Magnanimous.  After  the  son 
attained  to  manhood  he  was  called  the  young  'Squire  in 
contradistinction  to  his  father,  who  was  known  as  the  old 
'Squire.  In  good  time  the  old  man  died,  and  his  mantle 
fell  on  his  son  ;  then  indeed  the  highest  honors  of  the 
town  of  Pebblebrook  were  his  by  right.  Who  could  be 
moderator  of  the  town-meeting  but  he  ?  Was  he  not 
Justice  of  the  Peace,  and  chairman  of  the  County  Com 
mittee  ?  Who  was  the  foremost  man  on  all  great  occa 
sions  1  None  other  than  Magnanimous  Stout.  Others, 
by  merit  or  accident,  rose  high  ;  but  he  was  always  "  lord 
of  the  ascendant."  To  question  his  merits  had  been  high 
treason  ;  for  his  greatness  was  such  as  few  examine  and 
none  dare  gainsay  within  the  sphere  of  its  influence.  He 
had  the  largest,  most  costly  house,  and  the  richest  lands. 
He  rode  in  his  carriage  while  others  walked  ;  and  that 
pew  in  the  broad  aisle  of  the  church,  lined  with  faded 
crimson  silk,  and  stuffed,  was  it  not  his,  the  "  family 
pew  ?"  Verily  his  was  a  greatness  level  to  the  compre 
hension  of  the  meanest  capacity.  Was  it  not  seen  in  the 
trappings  hung  about  him  1  Was  it  not  heard  in  the 
sound  of  his  name  ?  Was  he  not  born  great? 

Albert  Pike  achieved  greatness.  He  was  the  son  of 
the  poorest  man  in  Pebblebrook ;  one  whose  business  it 
was  to  do  all  kinds  of  odd  jobs  ;  to  saw  wood,  carry  corn 
to  the  mill,  help  the  women  make  soap,  and  the  like. 
Albert  had  much  to  contend  with,  and  obstacles  almost 
insurmountable  were  before  him  ;  but  he  early  learned 


46  PEBBLEBROOK. 

from  his  mother  not  to  say,  /  can't ;  words  expressive  of 
the  want  of  energy  which  characterised  his  father.  He 
was  not  a  boy  of  splendid  parts,  but  he  was  attentive,  per 
severing,  energetic  ;  and  though  he  seemed  destined  to 
tread  in  his  father's  footsteps,  who,  almost  as  soon  as  the 
boy  could  walk,  transferred  to  him  the  lighter  parts  of  his 
own  multifarious  employments,  yet  did  he  go  on  his  up 
ward  way  with  a  silent  and  almost  imperceptible  progress. 
Every  leisure  moment  he  employed  usefully,  in  improving 
his  own  mind  by  conversation,  by  study  of  books,  and  by 
action.  While  waiting  for  his  breakfast,  his  dinner,  01  for 
the  little  bundle  which  some  good  woman  of  the  village 
was  making  up  for  him  to  carry,  he  read.  His  body  was 
bound  for  a  time  to  the  ignoble  service  of  others,  but  he 
felt  that  his  mind  was  free  to  work  for  itself.  His  orreat- 

o 

ness  had  deep  foundations  ;  it  was  based  on  a  right  use 
of  the  hours  he  could  call  his  own.  The  minister  of  the 
village  was  Albert's  early  and  constant  friend.  The  boy's 
quiet  demeanor,  his  thirst  for  knowledge,  his  gratitude 
for  the  books  loaned,  and  the  counsels  given,  won  the 
heart  of  the  good  old  man.  Albert  at  the  age  of  fourteen 
became  the  child  of  his  adoption,  and  he  determined  to 
give  him  what  is  called  a  liberal  education.  One  who 
had  seen  the  boy  on  the  day  when  this  determination  was 
made  known  to  him  could  not  soon  have  forgotten  his 
beaming  look.  He  stood  before  the  reverend  man  with 
an  open  book  in  his  hand  from  which  he  had  been  read 
ing  aloud.  The  minister  said,  "  Albert,  I  have  known 
you  from  your  infancy,  and  I  have  rarely  known  you  do  a 
willful  wrong.  Your  little  errors,  inadvertently  commit 
ted,  you  have  always  been  willing  to  atone  for  ;  and  you 
have  seldom  neglected  an  opportunity  of  improvement ; 
you  have  been  a  joy  to  me,  and  I  purpose  —  nay  I  feel  it 


THREE     GREAT      MEN.  47 

to  be  my  duty  —  to  help  you  on  your  way  to  usefulness. 
The  bent  of  your  mind  is  toward  books,  and  you  shall 
have  an  opportunity  to  follow  it ;  I  will  fit  you  for  col 
lege."  The  boy  stood  motionless ;  the  book  dropped 
from  his  hand,  he  grew  pale,  and  big  drops  gathered  in 
his  eyes.  He  fell  on  his  knees,  bowed  his  head  in  the  old 
man's  lap,  and  sobbed  aloud.  The  minister  placed  his 
hand  on  the  boy's  head  and  said,  "  1  understand  you,  my 
son  ;  we  will  say  no  more  about  it  now."  Who  may  tell 
the  joy  of  that  young  soul  on  this  its  birth-day  to  the  full 
ness  of  assured  hope.  All  for  which  his  subdued,  yet 
ardent  spirit,  had  longed  but  had  hardly  dared  to  hope, 
seemed  within  his  grasp,  and  he  went  forth  that  day  all 
radiant  with  gladness.  His  slender  yet  well  knit  frame 
seemed  distended  with  emotion,  his  dark  eye  kindled  into 
more  than  its  wonted  brightness,  and  his  usually  pale  face 
glowed  with  excitement.  Of  his  college  life  1  will  not 
speak  ;  he  was  not  idle  there,  and  won  such  honors  as 
colleges  can  bestow.  It  was  the  desire  of  his  friend  that 
he  should  study  physic,  and  fill  the  soon-to-be-vacated 
place  of  the  village  physician,  whose  years  already  num 
bered  more  than  three- score  and  ten  ;  and,  though  he 
was  ambitious  of  a  wider  sphere  of  action,  he  felt  that  his 
friend  who  had  given  him  much  required  but  a  small  sac 
rifice  in  return  ;  he  therefore  willingly,  yea  gladly,  con 
sented  ;  and  throughout  his  long  life  he  never,  for  more 
than  some  few  moments,  appeared  to  regret  that  he  had 
done  so.  The  little  village  of  Pebblebrook  seemed  but  a 
bushel  under  which  his  light  must  be  hid  ;  yet  was  it  not 
altogether  obscured,  for  he  was  called  to  adjacent  towns 
to  consultations  on  doubtful  cases,  and  his  written  essays 
enlightened  many  who  knew  not  the  source  whence  they 
emanated.  In  Pebblebrook  he  was  great ;  in  the  eyes  of 


48  PEBBLEBROOK. 

the  many,  who  think  the  clothes  a  part  of  the  man,  and 
can  in  nowise  separate  them,  he  was  not  honored  as  was 
Magnanimous  Stout,  Esq. ;  yet  even  in  their  clouded 
view  he  was  second  to  him  only,  and  some  few  there  were 
who  fully  knew  the  priceless  worth  of  a  clear-headed, 
good-hearted  man. 

The  man  who  had  greatness  thrust  upon  him ;  who 
was  he  ?  None  other  than  the  loutish  son  of  Poundwell 
the  blacksmith.  Abiel  Poundwell,  a  dunce  in  the  school 
room,  and  a  lubber  on  the  play-ground,  attained  to  the 
age  of  twenty-one  without  having  attained  to  wisdom 
enough  to  keep  out  of  the  fire.  His  eyes  were  of  the 
staring  kind,  his  features  large,  and  his  hands  almost 
always  in  his  pockets  ;  he  was  slovenly  in  dress,  shuffling 
in  gait,  and  open-mouthed.  He  was  easily  pushed  about 
by  any  one  who  would  trouble  himself  to  do  it,  and  Dame 
Fortune,  in  one  of  her  capricious  moods,  pushed  him 
first  into  matrimony,  and  then  into  the  possession  of 
wealth.  When  Abiel  became  of  age  his  father  gave  him 
three  hundred  dollars,  saying,  "  there,  you  good-for-noth 
ing  fellow,  take  that ;  keep  your  hands  in  your  pockets  a 
year  longer,  and  then  go  to  work  or  go  into  the  poor- 
house."  But  another  destiny  awaited  Abiel.  The 
daughter  of  Abner  Stetson  had  passed  that  corner  in  life 
where  unmarried  womanhood  tarry  so  long;  she  was 
thirty-two.  She  was  a  smart,  shrewish  old  maid,  and 
her  beauty  was  of  that  kind  which  needs  a  thick  veil. 
Her  step-mother,  who  was  about  the  same  age,  determined 
to  remove  her  from  the  shelter  of  the  paternal  roof,  and 
to  that  end  she  sought  a  husband  for  the  awaiting  dam 
sel.  Mrs.  Stetson  fixed  on  Abiel  Poundwell  as  a  mar 
riageable  man,  for  it  was  well  known  that  he  would  take 


THREE     GREAT     MEN. 


49 


almost  anything  that  was  thrust  upon  him.  "  Abiel," 
said  she,  beckoning  to  him  one  day  across  the  street, 
"  Abiel,  I  wonder  you  don't  come  to  see  us  oftener  ;  our 
Abigail  would  be  glad  to  see  you.  Now  that  I  think  of 
it,  Abiel,  why  don't  you  get  married  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  whom  to  take,  and  I  don't  know  who 
wants  to  take  me,"  was  the  sapient  reply. 

"  Well,  well,  said  the  Dame,  "  come  in."  Abiel  went 
in  then ;  often  afterwards ;  and  the  maneuvering  step 
mother  had  soon  the  satisfaction  of  making  what  is  called 
a  match  ;  often  inappropriately  enough.  Abigail  herself 
was  nothing  loth ;  Abiel,  said  she  to  herself,  has,  as  I 
know,  three  hundred  dollars ;  I'll  take  care  of  it  and 
make  him  work  ;  I  shall  be  happier  than  I  am  at  present, 
in  this  continual  warfare  with  my  step-mother.  In  less 
time  than  such  matters  are  usually  arranged  (for  there 
was  no  delay  on  either  side,)  Abigail  Stetson  became  Mrs. 
Poundwell.  On  the  first  consultation  on  household 
affairs  and  ways  and  means,  she  learned  with  dismay  that 
the  three  hundred  dollars  had  clean  passed  away.  A  few 
days  before  the  wedding  one  of  those  scheming  adven 
turers,  who  go  about  seeking  whom  they  may  devour, 
appeared  in  Pebblebrook,  and  fastened  on  Abiel  Poundwell, 
having  learned  that  he  was  master  of  some  ready  cash. 
As  this  man  had  in  an  uncommon  degree  the  faculty  of 
speech,  and  Abiel  had  believing  faculties,  the  three  hun 
dred  dollars  changed  hands,  and  Abiel  received  therefor 
a  deed  of  three  hundred  acres  of  land,  situate  he  hardly 
knew  where.  This  Abiel  believed  to  be  a  great  specula 
tion  ;  but  his  better  half  (the  neighbors  called  her  his 
better  three-quarters)  told  him  he  was  a  fool  ;  and,  after 
bitter  upbraidings,  urged  him  to  pull  his  hands  out  of  his 
pockets,  and  go  to  work.  She  afterwards  sewed  up  the 
5 


50  PEBBLEBROOK. 

pockets  of  his  trowsers,  and  for  years  those  nether  gar 
ments  were  made  for  him  without  that  common  conve 
nience.  This  had  a  salutary  effect,  for,  when  thus  de 
prived  of  these  warm  resting  places  for  his  hands,  Abiel 
had  less  aversion  to  -labor  ;  and  soon,  under  the  energetic 
government  of  Mrs.  Poundwell,  he  became  a  more  useful 
member  of  society ;  though  he  could  not  get  money 
enough  to  defray  the  expenses  of  a  journey  to  his  unknown 
land.  His  wife,  however,  resolved  to  know  if  Abiel  had 
got  anything  for  his  money,  and  sent  the  deed  of  land  to 
the  Register  of  the  County  mentioned  therein  ;  who  in 
due  time  returned  it  marked  "  Recorded."  Years  passed 
away,  and  Abiel  Poundwell  continued  a  poor  and  some 
what  despised  man  ;  but  events  were  in  train  far  away,  of 
which  the  secluded  inhabitants  of  Pebblebrook  little 
dreamed. 

A  stranger,  who  had  the  appearance  of  a  business  man, 
came  by  the  mail-wagon  to  the  village,  and  remained 
some  days  at  the  tavern  apparently  without  an  object. 
One  day,  however,  he  quietly  addressed  Abiel,  who  was 
at  work  in  a  potatoe  field  by  the  road-side,  and,  after 
some  common-place  remarks,  adroitly  led  the  conversa 
tion  to  speculations  and  wild  lands  ;  but  though  Abiel 
mentioned  his  <c  unfortunate  spec,"  as  he  had  learned  to 
call  it,  the  stranger  dared  not  proceed  further  on  his  pur 
pose  at  that  time,  and  left  him  to  his  potatoes.  Abiel  in 
formed  his  wife  of  this  conversation,  who,  quick-witted 
and  suspicious,  gave  him  directions  how  to  proceed  in 
case  the  talk  should  be  resumed.  Her  instructions  were 
followed  to  the  letter ;  and  the  stranger  soon  appeared  in 
Mrs.  Poundwell's  presence,  whom  he  found  fully  his 
equal  in  bargain-making.  In  short,  Abiel  Poundwell  re 
ceived  ten  thousand  dollars  for  one  half  of  his  land,  re- 


THREE     GREAT     MEN.  51 

fusing  to  sell  more.  Thenceforth  he  was  a  great  man  in 
Pebblebrook  ;  let  not  the  reader  think  that  he  altogether 
failed  to  act  well  the  part  thus  thrust  upon  him.  A  yearly 
journey,  which  he,  accompanied  by  his  wife,  made  to  the 
thriving  town  on  his  land  above  the  tide  waters  of  the 
Hudson  river,  gave  him  some  knowledge  of  things  which 
his  rustic  neighbors  had  never  seen  ;  and  the  exercise  of 
his  faculties  raised  them  to  mediocrity.  He  even  came 
to  be  considered  a  man  of  solid  judgment  by  following 
one  simple  rule  given  him  by  his  wife. 

"  Mr.  Poundwell,  don't  talk  much  ;  and  when  your 
opinion  is  asked  on  any  important  matter  shake  your 
head,  look  wise  as  you  can,  and  say  you  will  think  of  it ; 
then  you  know  we  can  talk  the  matter  over  in  the  eve 
ning."  Mrs.  Poundwell  became  discreet — so  should  all 
women  be  who  are  blest  with  obedient  husbands  —  and 
kept  her  guiding  hand  out  of  sight ;  few  men  suspected 
that  there  was  "  a  power  behind  the  throne  greater  than 
the  throne  itself."  Mr.  Poundwell  built  a  large  house ; 
he  dressed  well  and  was  sleek  ;  he  talked  little,  and  he 
looked  grave  ;  he  was  church  deacon  and  selectman ;  in 
fullness  of  years  he  died.  Whoso  visits  the  town  of  Peb 
blebrook  may  see  in  the  grave-yard  an  imposing  tomb 
stone,  on  which  is  inscribed  the  name  of  Abiel  Pound- 
well,  Esq.  ;  and  below  are  recorded  his  many  virtues, 
and  his  sterling  worth.  This  stone  was  placed  there  by 
his  "  disconsolate  widow." 

Let  not  the  great  men  of  cities,  who  dwell  in  costly 
mansions,  loll  in  splendid  carriages,  and  fair  sumptuously 
every  day  ;  nor  those  enrolled  among  the  many  Honora- 
bles  of  the  land,  who  make  almost  interminable  speeches 
in  our  Halls  of  Legislation  ;  let  not  such  smile  in  derision 
of  the  greatness  I  have  depicted.  Why  should  they  ? 


52  PEBBLEBROOK. 

Are  not  the  elements  of  popular  greatness  everywhere  the 
same,  in  the  quiet  village  and  in  the  many-voiced,  life- 
teeming  city  ?  Truly,  popular  greatness  here  and  there 
differs  but  in  degree  ;  the  same  wind  that  wakes  only  a 
little  ripple  on  the  surface  of  the  forest-hidden  pond  raises 
in  grandeur  the  roaring  billow  of  the  wide  ocean.  The 
wind  ceases  to  blow,  and  then  where  are  they,  the  little 
ripple  and  the  roaring  billow  ? 


COUSIN      SIMEON, 


CHAPTER   VII. 


COUSIN     SIMEON. 

ONE  Saturday  the  mail-wagon  brought  us  something 
interesting  —  a  letter  from  Cousin  Simeon  :  the  whole 
family,  my  Aunt,  her  two  daughters,  Uncle  John  and  my 
self,  soon  got  together  to  hear  it  read.  It  ran  thus  : 

Dear  Mother, 

First  let  me  tell  you,  what  you  will  be  right 
glad  to  hear,  that  my  health  is  quite  restored.  I  am  so 
fat  and  red- faced  that  when  I  look  into  the  glass  I  say, 
"  Is  this  really  I,  Simeon  Hartwell,  whom  all  the  Doctors 
could'nt  save?  "  What  a  blessing,  Mother,  it  is  to  have 
flesh ;  I  can  now  sit  or  lie  without  complaint  of  bones. 
But  my  clothes,  which  were  made  for  Simeon  the  lean, 
are  much  too  tight  for  Simeon  the  fat.  I  arrived  here 
only  ten  days  ago  ;  having  had  a  long  passage  of  fifty 
days.  This  country  is  so  unlike  the  one  I  have  been 
accustomed  too,  that  I  seem  almost  to  be  in  another 
world,  and  I  have  much  to  say  about  it :  but  let  me  first 
tell  you  somewhat  of  our  voyage  out.  For  some  days 
after  I  left  my  native  land  I  was  very  sick,  and  kept  in 
my  berth  ;  I  thought  I  should  die,  and  never  see  my  dear 
friends  again.  The  Captain,  a  rough  talking,  but  at  heart, 
5* 


54  PEBBLEB  ROOK. 

I  believe,  very  kind  man,  did  what  he  could  for  me,  and 
at  last,  after  much  persuasion  and  some  threats,  got  me  up 
on  deck.  What  a  sight  was  there  for  a  landsman  !  noth 
ing  but  water,  water,  far  as  the  eye  could  see.  I  looked 
in  all  directions  for  land,  but  could  see  none.  I  lay  down 
on  the  deck  and  felt  alone,  without  a  friend  in  the  world. 
I  am  almost  ashamed  to  say  that  I  shed  tears ;  but  I  was 
so  weak,  so  comfortless.  I  can  even  now  hardly  bear  to 
think  of  the  state  I  was  then  in,  and  will  say  no  more 
about  it.  Soon  I  got  appetite  for  food,  and  strength,  and 
began  to  feel  an  interest  in  the  weather,  which  is  a  very 
important  thing  at  sea,  where  one  is  so  left  to  the  mercy 
of  the  winds  and  waves.  Indeed,  Mother,  I  felt  the  truth 
of  what  you  have  so  often  told  me  ;  that  we  are  always 
dependent  on  a  higher  Being  ;  and  1  resolved,  if  health 
was  again  given  me,  to  devote  more  of  my  time  and 
thoughts  to  Him.  We  had  many  calm,  hot  days  before 
we  got  into  the  trade  winds.  Some  days  were  dreadful  ; 
all  around  and  over  us  hung  white  clouds  quite  motion 
less  ;  the  ground-swell  of  the  sea  hove  lazily  along,  and 
the  sails  flapped  idly  against  the  masts.  The  vessel  could 
not  be  steered,  and  swung  round  and  round  to  all  points 
of  the  compass.  Oh,  these  calm  days  at  sea  are  hardly 
endurable.  We  looked  anxiously  in  every  quarter  for 
wind,  and  felt  our  utter  helplessness ;  a  little  motion  in 
the  clouds  gave  us  hope  ;  and  when  I  saw  far  off  that 
darkening  and  rippling  of  the  waters  which  denote  the 
coming  breeze  ;  when  at  last  it  came,  cooling  my  cheek 
and  filling  the  sails,  I  felt  the  beauty  of  that  passage  in 
Genesis,  "  The  spirit  of  God  moved  upon  the  face  of  the 
waters."  We  were,  as  my  journal  says —  for  I  have  kept 
a  journal  since  I  have  been  well  enough  to  write,  which 
will,  I  hope,  some  day  amuse  you  —  we  were  twenty-five 


COUSIN     SIM  EON.  55 

days  in  what  sailors  call  the  "  variables,"  before  we  got 
into  the  trade  winds,  and  sometimes,  I  thought  we  should 
never  get  to  our  journey's  end.  We  did,  however,  at  last 
get  the  "  trades,"  and  went  merrily  along  before  a  steady 
north-east  breeze. 

I  have  learnt  enough  of  navigation  on  this  voyage, 
to  know  that  every  Captain  should  have  a  chronometer 
to  ascertain  the  longitude :  but  our  Captain  had  none  and 
seemed  quite  uneasy ;  not  without  reason  1  believe,  if 
there  is  any  truth  in  these  words  printed  on  the  cover  of 
his  nautical  almanac  :  "  The  seamen  knows  that  his  lat 
itude  is  sure  —  to  know  also,  that  his  longitude  is  cor 
rect,  is  the  strongest  feeling  of  his  heart,  except  his  love 
for  his  wife  and  bairns."  —  If  you  and  sisters  don't  know 
about  longitude  and  the  use  of  a  chronometer,  Uncle 
John,  who  knows  a  little  of  everything,  can  explain  the 
matter  to  you.  —  By  the  Captain's  reckoning  we  were 
west  of  the  Cape  de  Verd  Islands ;  but  he  was  mistaken, 
for  lo,  one  day,  about  sunset,  land  appeared  right  ahead. 
It  was  covered  with  fog  and  we  were  very  near  it.  What 
a  time  there  was  then  !  "  Starboard  the  helm,  pull  in 
the  studding  sails,"  hurra  boys.  The  vessel  was  hauled 
close  by  the  wind,  (ask  Uncle  John  again,)  and  we 
tacked  about  all  night  listening  to  the  unpleasant  sound 
of  breakers  under  our  lee.  The  night  seemed  very  long, 
and  1,  with  the  crew,  watched  till  dawn  of  day.  Truly 
it  was  an  exciting  scene  ;  the  wind  increased  in  violence 
and  our  situation  was  a  dangerous  one.  About  midnight 
a  light  appeared  at  the  mast  head,  and  the  sailors  whis 
pered  anxiously  together.  Morning  however  came  at 
last,  and  by  the  blessed  light  of  day  we  saw  land  again. 
We  ran  down  before  the  wind,  through  a  passage  among 
the  islands — there  are  ten  in  all.  We  sailed  nearest  to 


PEBBLEBROOK. 

St.  Nicholas,  and  it  looked  barren  enough,  being  mostly  a 
mass  of  high  rocks  with  little  appearance  of  vegetation. 
We  saw  no  signs  of  inhabitants,  though  there  are  some 
on  the  southerly  part.  St.  Nicholas  is,  I  suppose,  the  pat 
ron  saint  of  the  island  :  if  the  inhabitants  ever  thank  him, 
I  think  they  must  say.  "  Thank  you  for  nothing  St.  Nich 
olas."  Barren  as  this  land  looked,  I  rejoiced  in  the 
sight  of  it ;  for  it  had  a  firm,  fixed  appearance,  unlike 
the  restless  ocean,  and  1  felt  that  I  was  still  in  the  old 
world  I  had  known  so  long.  We  soon  lost  sight  of  it, 
and  in  some  fourteen  days  afterward  we  crossed  the  equa 
tor,  which,  as  the  geography  books  say,  is  "  an  imagin 
ary  line." 

Here  we  had  abundance  of  rain,  awful  looking  clouds 
such  as  I  never  saw  before,  and  thunder  and  lightning 
with  heavy  squalls  of  wind.  But  I  cannot  describe  these 
things  to  you  here  ;  you  shall  read  of  these  and  many 
more  in  my  Journal  ;  of  the  vessels  we  saw  at  sea,  of 
monstrous  whales  and  sharks,  and  porpoises ;  of  beauti 
ful  dolphins  and  flying  fishes,  of  tropic  birds  and  Mother 
Gary's  Chickens.  Perhaps,  Mother,  you  will  say,  as  the 
Scotch  woman  did  to  her  son  who  told  stories  of  the 
wonders  he  had  seen.  "  Ye  may  hae  seen  mountains  of 
sugar  and  rivers  of  milk,  but  ye'll  ne'er  gar  me  believe 
ye  hae  seen  a  fish  that  could  flee."  —  [  should  have  said 
before,  that  after  I  got  an  appetite,  I  began  to  rummage 
among  my  stores  and  made  sad  havoc  :  before  we  reached 
south  latitude  I  had  devoured  all  :  but  it  did'nt  matter 
much,  for  my  appetite  was  so  great  that  nothing  came 
amiss;  beef,  pork,  or  ship  bread. —  The  Captain  used  to 
say,  it  did  him  good  to  see  me  eat.  —  One  morning  at 
dawn  of  day,  I  was  called  out  of  my  berth  to  see  land 
once  more  j  and  I  can  assure  you,  I  did  not  loiter.  There 


COUSIN     SIM  EON.  57 

it  lay,  a  long,  low  line  of  coast ;  a  glad  sight  to  me  ;  and 
close  alongside  our  vessel  was  a  fishing  boat  of  strange 
construction,  being  formed  of  five  or  six  round  logs  fast 
ened  together  making  a  kind  of  raft,  on  which  were  three 
negroes  and  a  tub  to  contain  fish.  It  had  one  large  tri 
angular  sail,  and  is  called,  as  the  Captain  says,  a  catam 
aran.  Every  wave  washed  over  it,  and  the  men  were  in 
water  nearly  to  the  knee  half  the  time.  Soon,  as  we 
sailed  toward  the  land,  I  saw  the  City  of  Pernambuco, 
with  ships  lying  in  the  harbor  ;  and  a  little  way  north  of 
it,  on  a  hill,  the  City  of  Olinda.  They  looked  very 
pretty  and  neat,  especially  the  latter,  all  the  buildings 
being  white  among  dark  green  foliage.  —  About  8  o'clock 
a  pilot,  rowed  by  four  half  naked  negroes,  came  off  to 
take  us  into  port :  how  unlike  was  he  to  the  one  who, 
fifty  days  before,  brought  us  out.  He  wore  pumps  and 
white  stockings,  yellow  trousers,  a  blue  nankin  frock  coat, 
the  skirts  reaching  to  his  heels,  a  white  waistcoat,  and  a 
white  hat.  Such  as  he  was,  however,  he  took  us  safely 
into  the  inner  harbor  ;  where  about  sixty  vessels  of  many 
nations,  lay  moored  alongside  of  each  other,  for  the  har 
bor  is  small.  The  scene  was  interesting  enough  to  me. 
Many  different  national  flags  fluttered  in  the  wind,  and 
all  around  I  heard  shoutings  in  unknown  tongues.  About 
musket-shot  from  us,  lay  the  beehive  of  a  city  swarming 
with  negroes.  I  got  on  shore  soon  as  possible,  and  was 
quite  disappointed  in  one  respect  for  this  City  of  Pernam 
buco,  which  appeared  so  neat,  seen  at  a  distance,  proved 
very  dirty  on  actual  inspection.  —  With  some  difficulty, 
I  found  my  way  to  the  house  of  the  American  merchant, 
to  whom  1  had  a  letter  :  he  received  me  very  kindly,  and 
invited  me  to  lodge  in  his  house  ;  but  I  have  slept  every 
night  on  board  the  vessel,  for  I  feel  quite  at  home  there 


58  PEBBLEBKOOK. 

now,  and  don't  like  the  strange  ways  of  the  people  on 
shore.  Three-fourths  of  the  whole  population  are  negro 
slaves,  who  are  very  noisy  as  they  march  about,  bearing 
burdens  on  their  heads.  Every  kind  of  merchandise  is 
borne  about  the  streets  on  the  heads  or  shoulders  of  these 
slaves,  who  go  in  companies,  of  from  four  or  five  to 
twenty,  all  singing  a  ditty,  to  which  they  keep  step  in  a 
kind  of  dog-trot.  To-day,  I  saw  sixteen  negroes  bearing 
aloncr  a  pipe  of  wine.  It  was  fastened  with  ropes  to  two 
long  stout  poles,  each  pole  being  on  the  shoulders  of 
eight  negroes.  Here  is  no  rattling  of  carts  or  drays,  as 
in  our  cities,  but  instead  thereof  this  continual  singing.  — 
One  thing  astonishes  me  :  there  are,  as  I  learn,  about 
twenty-five  vessels  engaged  in  the  slave-trade  to  the  coast 
of  Africa.  They  fit  out  openly  in  this  port,  but  on  their 
return,  land  their  cargoes  of  human  beings  on  the  coast 
a  little  north  or  south  of  the  city.  They  are  then  marched 
to  the  plantations  in  the  interior.  1  supposed  that  the 
slave-trade  had  almost  ceased  ;  but  it  is  said  here,  that 
there  were  never  more  vessels  employed  in  it  from  Bra 
zilian  ports,  than  there  are  at  present.  The  friends  of  the 
black  man  have  much  to  do,  and  I  believe  I  shall  join  the 
Abolition  Society  when  I  get  home.  Is'nt  this  slavery  a 
horrible  business?  Only  think  of  five  or  six  hundred  of 
these  poor  creatures,  crowded  together  in  the  hold  of  one 
little  vessel  at  sea  and  chained  :  it  is  dreadful.  I  thought 
it  bad  enough  to  be  at  sea  at  all,  with  all  the  comforts 
possible.  —  Let  me  try  to  give  you  some  idea  of  the  sit 
uation  of  this  city.  It  is  divided  into  three  parts,  named 
the  Reciffe,  St.  Antonio  and  Boavista.  The  first  takes 
it  name  from  the  reef  of  rocks  which  forms  the  harbor  ; 
Reciffe  being  Portuguese  for  reef.  Boavista,  I  am  told, 
means  the  "  beautiful  view."  The  Recifife  is  situated  on 


COUSIN      SIM  EON.  59 

the  end  of  a  peninsula,  and  is  joined  to  the  main  land  by 
a  narrow  sandy  beach,  running  northward  to  the  City  of 
Olinda.  Here  are  the  shipping,  the  stores  of  the  foreign 
merchants,  and  the  custom-house.  It  is  the  most  busy 
part,  for  here  the  merchandise  is  landed  and  shipped.  St. 
Antonio  is  an  island  southwesterly  from  the  RecifFe.  In 
it  are  the  most  tasteful  stores  in  Pernambuco,  kept  mostly 
by  Frenchmen  and  women  :  in  fact,  the  greater  part  of 
the  trade  is  in  the  hands  of  foreigners,  the  Brazilians 
being  generally  indolent.  Here  is  also  the  palace  of  the 
President  of  the  province.  The  other  part,  Boavista,  is 
on  the  main  land  westerly  of  St.  Antonio,  and  is  largest 
of  the  three.  A  bridge  connects  the  Reciffe  with  St. 
Antonio,  and  another  the  latter  with  Boavista :  and  a 
street,  pretty  straight  and  of  good  width,  runs  across  the 
bridges  through  the  whole  city.  Almost  all  the  other 
streets  are  narrow,  many  being  not  more  than  ten  feet 
wide.  The  buildings  have  an  ancient  appearance  and 
are  very  dissimilar;  being  of  unequal  heights,  from  one 
to  six  stories,  and  of  irregular  forms  with  roofs  of  red  tile. 
The  walls  are  of  brick,  covered  with  plaster  and  painted 
white  :  the  windows  are  mostly  large,  extending  in  the 
second  story  from  floor  to  ceiling,  and  open  like  doors 
upon  a  balcony  in  front.  The  kitchen  is  in  the  attic 
story,  the  basement  is  usually  a  store-house,  and  the 
front  entry  is  sometimes  used  as  a  stable  for  a  horse  — 
there  are  no  back  yards  ;  and  on  the  whole,  it  is  a 
very  strange  place  to  me.  —  The  fruits,  of  which  there  is 
a  great  variety,  are  very  fine ;  but  the  meats  are  not  of 
the  best,  indeed  they  are  very  poor.  I  think  there  can 
hardly  be  anywhere  a  better  climate  than  this  :  the  ther 
mometer  through  the  year  only  varies  about  ten  degrees, 
between  seventy  and  eighty,  and  there  is  in  this  place,  an 


Ol)  PEBBLEBROOK. 

almost  continual  sea-breeze  :  sometimes  indeed,  in  the 
morning  there  is  an  hour  or  two  of  calm.  —  How  would 
you  like  such  weather  as  this,  sisters  ?  No  trudging 
through  snow,  wrapped  up  in  cloaks  and  shawls  and 
muffs,  but  the  whole  year  one  beautiful  summer  with  fruit 
and  flowers  and  green  leaves.  It  would  be  very  delight 
ful  you  think :  but  there  are  better  things  than  warm 
weather  and  a  continuous  summer.  The  great  thing  in 
every  country  is  the  society  one  finds,  and  you  would  cer 
tainly  be  wretched  here  —  but  of  this  more  hereafter.  — 
I  could  tell  you  a  long  story  of  a  holiday  procession,  and 
fireworks  in  the  evening,  which  I  saw  the  other  day,  but 
I  have  not  time  now.  It  was  a  procession  of  all  the 
churches.  There  was  a  figure  of  St  George  on  horseback, 
armed  cap-a-pie,  followed  by  his  Esquire  ;  then  came  the 
priests  and  brotherhood ;  the  former  in  black  robes,  the 
latter  in  red ;  the  bishop  under  a  canopy  of  silk  spangled 
with  gold  and  silver,  and  held  aloft  over  his  head  by  six 
priests.  There  were  the  students  of  the  Jesuit's  College 
aud  the  Franciscan  monks :  the  officers  of  the  army  and 
the  national  guard  in  uniform.  Most  noteworthy  of  all 
were  the  angels,  sprinkled  all  along  the  line  of  march  ; 
each  church  having  manufactured  some  for  the  occasion. 
I  wish  I  could  make  you  see  one  of  these  angels.  The 
substantial  part  of  each,  was  a  girl  some  eight  or  ten 
years  old  :  but  that  was  the  smallest  part.  They  were 
dressed  in  white  robes,  with  a  large  hoop  about  twelve 
inches  above  their  feet :  eight  pieces  of  white  gauze, 
each  four  feet  long  and  ten  or  twelve  inches  wide,  having 
elastic  wires  at  the  edges,  were  fastened  a't  one  end  to  the 
back  just  below  the  shoulders,  and  the  other  ends  extend 
ed  in  all  directions  forming  a  circle.  In  the  centre  of  this 
circle,  where  the  ends  of  gauze  met,  was  a  pair  of  wings 


COUSIN     SIMEON. 


61 


spreading  about  three  feet,  and  made  (as  wings  should  be) 
of  feathers,  red,  black  and  white.  On  their  heads  were 
wreaths  of  flowers  and  three  long  white  feathers  :  there 
were  also,  red  flowers  fastened  to  their  white  robes. 
Their  arms  were  naked  to  the  shoulder,  and  in  their  hands 
they  had  silver  plates  filled  with  rose  leaves.  Their  feet 
were  covered  by  white  shoes  and  stockings ;  but  as  these 
angels  were  walking  through  muddy  streets,  these  lower 
extremities  bore  marks  of  their  contact  with  earth.  They 
tripped  lightly  along,  among  black  looking  priests,  hold 
ing  themselves  erect  and  seeming  quite  conscious  of  their 
angelic  appearance."  The  reading  had  several  times  been 
interrupted  by  exclamations  from  the  mother  and  her 
daughters,  and  here  the  youngest  one  broke  in  :  "I  de 
clare,  I  can  almost  see  the  little  angels:  how  pretty  they 
must  look  in  their  white  robes  besprinkled  with  red  flow 
ers  ;  the  gauze  with  elastic  wires,  as  they  stepped  along, 
fanning  to  an  fro,  and  the  white  feathers  growing  out  of 
the  flower  wreaths  on  their  heads  —  'tis  pity  the  streets 
were  so  muddy."  Uncle  John  saying,  there  was  little 
more  of  it,  continued  his  reading.  "  Now  just  imagine 
this  procession  passing  along  through  files  of  soldiers 
kneeling  on  the  side-walks;  while  women  in  the  windows 
above,  (out  of  which  hung  red  and  yellow  bed-coverlids 
and  damask  curtains,)  strewed  flowers  on  the  holy  men 
and  angels  below.  When  the  procession  was  fairly  under 
way,  a  plentiful  shower  of  rain  fell  suddenly,  and  then 
what  a  scampering  there  was  !  St.  George  galloped  away 
as  for  his  life  ;  the  Host  fled ;  the  priests  ran  to  save 
their  doublets,  and  the  angels  sought  shelter  in  grocery 
stores  and  grog-shops.  —  I  have  no  time  to  write  more, 
for  the  vessel  by  which  I  shall  send  this,  sails  to-day.  How 
glad  I  should  be  to  know  that  you  are  all  as  well  as  I  am. 


62  PEBBLEBEOOK. 

Isn't  it  very  strange  that  I  got  well  so  quick.  I  cannot 
tell  you  now  when  I  shall  come  home,  but  I  will  write 
again  soon." 

"  I  am  so  thankful  to  know  that  Simeon  is  well  and  fat. 
—  I  am  trying  to  think  how  he  looks  now.  We  ought  to 
have  made  his  clothes  larger,  Amelia,  we  might  have 
thought  he  would  grow  fat,"  said  the  mother,  and  Amelia 
(the  eldest  daughter,)  replied,  "  I  guess  his  clothes  are 
large  enough  ;  that  is  only  one  of  his  stories  ;  he  doesn't 
always  tell  the  exact  truth." 

"  Isn't  that  a  good  long  letter?  "  said  Harriet.  I  wish 
he  had  said  more  about  the  people ;  how  they  dress  and 
how  they  live.  He  said  he  hadn't  time  to  describe  the 
procession,  and  yet  he  did  it." 

"  Yes,"  Uncle  John  replied,  ''  we  usually  find  time  for 
doing  what  we  really  wish  to  do.  The  letter  is  a  pretty 
good  one  —  better  than  his  letters  from  the  city ;  this 
time  he  had  something  to  say.  and  the  main  thing  in 
writing  a  letter  or  a  book  is  that  the  writer  have  some 
thing  to  write  about.  It  is  hard  work  to  make  some 
thing  out  of  nothing."  — there  was  much  talk  over  this 
letter  and  the  writer,  but  all  the  talk  in  this  world  cannot, 
as  yet,  be  printed,  and  I  will  on  this  occasion  give  no 
more. 


THE    LITERARY     MEMBER,  63 


CHAPTER    VIII. 


THE     LITERARY     MEMBER. 

IN  this  latter  Time,  which  boasts  itself  enlightened,  al 
most  every  family  has  its  literary  man  or  men.  Printed 
sheets  fly  abroad  like  Autumn  leaves,  on  which  he  who 
runs  may  read  decay.  A  timid  man  might  be  frightened, 
and  fear  that  all  truth  is  about  to  be  buried  beneath  the 
whirling  mass,  did  he  not  get  relief  from  consideration  of 
its  perishable  nature.  —  One  thing  is  certainly  desirable  ; 
that  science  should  produce  some  plan  for  making  books 
without  the  somewhat  tiresome  manual  labor  now  requi 
site.  The  most  expert  ready  writer  cannot  make  a  vol 
ume  of  common  size  in  less  than  a  month  ;  surely  a  great 
waste  of  time !  which  is  every  day  becoming  more  pre 
cious  ;  for  how  can  one  spend  so  much  time  in  writing 
who  is  desirous  of  the  reputation  of  being  well  read  in 
modern  literature?  Few  things  are  more  amusing  than  the 
perplexed  condition  of  a  well-meaning  young  man  in  the 
present  literary  world.  He  has  heard  that  there  are  Suns 
in  the  firmament  and  he  would  fain  look  at  them :  but, 
day  after  day,  he  is  engaged  at  some  Pickwick  Club, 
and  Nicholas  Nicklebys  meet  him  every  where :  he 
would  like  to  voyage  with  some  able  navigator,  but  lo,  a 
Phantom  Ship  and  thousand  phantom  cockle-boats ! 


64  PEBBLEBROOK. 

which  however  shall  be  all  of  a  size  when  they  have  sail 
ed  off  beyond  the  present  horizon.  Be  of  good  tcheer, 
sorely  afflicted  brother ;  your  children,  or  your  chil 
dren's  children,  shall  fare  better  than  you.  Cheer  up,  I 
say,  and  write  a  book  better  or  worse  as  you  have  ability  : 
it  is  at  this  present  time  clearly  the  duty  of  every  man, 
woman  and  child.  When  an  evil  becomes  monstrous  it 
is  always  near  its  end  ;  make  it  monstrous  then  with  all 
convenient  despatch  and  so  get  rid  of  it. 

In  this  latter  Time,  I  said,  almost  every  family  has  its 
literary  man.  The  Harding  family  is  not  behind  the  age  ; 
in  this  respect  it  is  not  entirely  wanting.  One  of  us  is 
quite  bookish  :  too  much  so,  for  he  has  neglected  what  is 
called  the  main  chance,  and  indeed  more  or  less  all  other 
chances  ;  he  has  given  his  time  and  faculties  to  the  read 
ing  of  books.  His  friends  look  doubtingly  upon  him  ; 
he  lacks  all  immediately  utilitarian  talent;  he  has  no  en 
terprise,  no  ambition,  and  unless  by  some  god-send  he 
can  never  be  rich.  Reproachful  looks  and  upbraiding 
words  are  given  him,  and  he  has  become  somewhat  shy 
and  reserved.  He  has,  however,  inherited  a  portion  of 
the  old  Harding  obstinacy,  and  will  go  through  the  slough 
of  modern  literature  :  indeed,  he  thinks  he  has  got  partly 
through  the  mud  and  can  see  firm  land  beyond:  Heaven 
speed  him !  —  Like  every  man  who  gets  a  glimpse  of 
something  new  and  strange  he  would  call  his  fellow-men 
to  see  it  too ;  therefore  he  wrote  the  piece  which  stands 
in  the  next  chapter  and  sent  it  to  one  of  our  Reviews  for 
publication  to  the  World.  The  Editors,  in  their  wisdom, 
thought  "  it  would  not  comport  with  the  general  ob 
jects  and  purposes  of  their  journal,"  and  sent  it  home 
again.  The  Editors  were  doubtless  right :  nevertheless, 
as  I  love  the  author  and  do  not  consider  the  World  in 


THE     LITERARY     MEMBER.  65 

any  special  degree  under  my  care,  it  shall  be  published. 
In  truth  —  one  must  tell  truth  now  and  then  —  in  truth, 
it  was  while  listening  to  the  author's  lamentations  that  I 
first  conceived  the  idea  of  making  a  book,  almost  for  the 
sole  purpose  of  sending  him  abroad ;  for  he  stays  too 
much  at  home  and  grows  conceited.  Indeed,  there  is  no 
folly  so  dangerous  as  that  which  one  keeps  locked  up  in 
his  own  bosom.  How  can  he  know  what  it  is  so  long  as 
it  lies  hidden  there  1  kept  too  long  it  becomes  a  rotten 
egg  and  taints  his  whole  being :  let  him  then,  if  he  have 
natural  heat,  hatch  it ;  when  it  gets  wings  and  flies  abroad 
it  shall  be  known  for  a  Turkey  Buzzard  or  a  Tomtit,  and 
even  boys  may  pelt  it. 

The  sub-biography  of  Patrick  Henry,  which  follows  the 
piece  I  have  made  such  ado  about,  is  the  handiwork  of  the 
same  man  ;  but  is  not  a  rejected  article  having  never  been 
a-begging.  The  conceitedness  and  self-sufficiency  which 
characterize  the  former  piece  are  also  visible  enough  in 
this,  and  shall  have  the  punishment  such  things  deserve. 
Thus  much,  by  way  of  censure,  I  have  thought  it  right  to 
say ;  for  I  am  an  older,  I  trust  also  a  wiser  man  than  the 
author,  and  he  will  take  a  word  of  reproof  better  from  me 
than  from  another. 


PE  B  BL  EBRO  O  K. 


CHAPTER    IX. 


A     REJECTED     ARTICLE. 

(  The  Elements  of  Moral  Science,  by  Francis  Wayland, 
D.  D.,  President  of  Brown  University  and  Profes 
sor  of  Moral  Philosophy.  &th  edition.  Boston : 
Gould,  Kendall,  Sf  Lincoln.} 

WE  thought  to  make  a  collection  of  the  titles  of  books, 
treating  logically  of  man's  nature  and  man's  duties,  and 
place  it  at  the  head  of  this  article:  but  when  we  considered 
the  number  of  such,  and  the  pamphlet  size  of  this,  *  *  *  * 
the  absurdity  of  our  thought  stared  us  in  the  face  and 
drove  us  to  a  quite  opposite  course.  We  have,  there 
fore  —  being  by  usage  obliged  to  take  something  — 
taken  only  one  :  one  of  the  latest  :  one  which  we  suppose 
to  be  among  the  best  of  its  kind.  So  good  indeed  is 
it  that  our  general  remarks,  if  they  have  force,  will  apply 
more  forcibly  to  others  than  to  this.  We  do  not  remem 
ber  our  earliest  readings  in  these  books,  but  we  know 
that  when  we  attained  to  those  years  called  years  of  dis 
cretion,  we  found  them  very  unsatisfactory  ;  and  sought 
no  more  in  them  for  that  which  is  not  there ;  Light. 

This   book    of  President  Wayland's,  however,  having 
taken  it  for  a  text  (a  pretext  for  speaking)  we  felt  bound 


A     REJECTED     ARTICLE.  07 

to  read ;  and  so,  in  part,  have  done.  Having  found  in 
it  some  things  worthy  of  note  we  shew  them  here. 
In  the  very  candid  preface  we  marked  this.  "  When  it 
became  my  duty  to  instruct  in  Moral  Philosophy,  in 
Brown's  University,  the  text-book  in  use  was  the  work  of 
Dr.  Paley.  From  many  of  his  principles,  I  found  myself 
compelled  to  dissent,  and,  at  first,  I  contented  myself  with 
stating  to  my  classes  my  objections  to  the  author,  and  of 
fering  my  views  in  the  form  of  familiar  conversations 
upon  several  of  the  topics  vvhich  he  discusses.  These 
views,  for  my  own  convenience,  I  soon  committed  to  pa 
per  and  delivered  in  the  form  of  lectures.  In  a  few 
years,  these  lectures  had  become  so  far  extended,  that 
to  my  surprise  they  contained,  by  themselves,  the  ele 
ments  of  a  different  system  from  that  of  the  text-book 
which  I  was  teaching.  To  avoid  the  inconvenience  of 
teaching  two  different  systems,  I  undertook  to  reduce 
them  to  order,  and  to  make  such  additions,  as  to  render 
the  work  in  some  measure  complete  within  itself.  I 
thus  relinquished  the  work  of  Dr.  Paley,  and  for  some 
time,  have  been  in  the  habit  of  instructing  solely  by 
lecture.  The  success  of  the  attempt  exceeded  my  ex 
pectations,  and  encouraged  me  to  hope  that  the  publica 
tion  of  what  I  had  delivered  to  my  classes  might,  in  some 
small  degree,  facilitate  the  study  of  moral  science." 

We  forbear  all  comment  on  this  honest  confession, 
save  this :  that  by  and  by  some  sagacious  man,  using 
Dr.  Wayland's  book  as  he  used  Dr.  Paley's  will,  in  a 
similar  way,  make  another  book  containing  other  different 
Elements  of  Moral  Science.  Should  that  man  have  Dr. 
Wayland's  degree  of  honesty  he  will  probably  also  say 
something  like  this.  "  When  I  commenced  the  under 
taking,  I  attempted  to  read  extensively,  but  soon  found  it 


•I  PEBBLEBROOK. 

so  difficult  to  arrive  at  any  definite  results  in  this  manner, 
that  the  necessities  of  my  situation  obliged  me  to  rely 
upon  my  own  reflection."  —  Preface. 

Very  remarkable  things  these  and  quite  unlocked  for 
by  us.  Here,  too,  is  a  remark  which  we  think  worthy 
of  remembrance.  "  There  are  few  things  which  a  child 
ought  to  learn,  from  the  study  of  which  an  adult  will  not 
derive  great  advantage,  especially  if  lie  go  through  the 
process  of  simplification  and  analysis,  which  are  so  ne 
cessary  in  order  to  communicate  knowledge  to  the  mind 
of  the  young."  p.  319. 

We  are  glad  to  learn  from  this  book,  as  from  others, 
that  the  "  greatest  happiness,"  principle,  is  going  out  of 
favor.  'Tis  a  thing  truly  that  one  might  laugh  at  very 
easily.  Here  we  had  paraded  to  our  view  a  very  simple 
rule  of  action.  Duty  could  be  so  easily  ascertained ; 
twas  only  the  finding  out  how  each  action  we  felt  in 
clined  to  do  would  affect  all  men  living,  or  to  live,  on 
Earth!  So  simple!  multiply  what  has  been,  by  what 
shall  be,  and  divide  by  what  is;  the  quotient  will  shew 
what  should  be  done.  Thus  would  the  greatest  happi 
ness  of  the  sreatest  number  be  promoted.  How  much 
easier  this  than  a  consultation  with  conscience ! 

Happiness  is  truly  Virtue's  hand-maid,  but  she  does 
not  always  appear  in  Virtue's  train.  Sometimes  she  hides 
in  the  folds  of  Virtue's  robe  :  sometimes  loiters  behind 
ashamed  of  some  of  her  pranks ;  for  she  (what  men  call 
happiness)  is  inclined  to  flirtation.  Blessedness  is  Virtue's 
wedded  wife. 

"  Of  the  "  Elements  of  Moral  Science,"  we  are  un 
willing  to  speak  at  large.  The  author  is  a  man  entitled 
to  much  respect ;  no  common  man  ;  and,  considering  the 
place  in  which  he  stands,  very  liberal,  almost  a  freeman. 
We  have  seen  other  and  better  things  from  his  pen,  and 


A     REJECTED     ARTICLE.  69 

look  for  more,  for  when  he  labors  in  his  true  vocation  he 
does  good  work.  One  more  quotation  from  this  book, 
and  we  will  leave  it.  Surely  this,  which  we  find  on  page 
59,  is  not,  even  in  these  days,  called  for.  "  I  hope  I  need 
not  apologise  for  introducing  into  such  a  discussion  so 
many  illustrations  from  poetry.  They  are  allowed  on  all 
hands  to  be  accurate  delineations  of  the  workings  of  the 
human  mind,  and  to  have  been  made  by  most  accurate 
observers.  They  were  made,  also,  without  the  possibil 
ity  of  bias  from  any  theory ;  and  therefore  are  of  great 
value  when  they  serve  to  confirm  any  theoretical  views, 
with  which  they  chance  to  coincide.  They  shew,  at 
least,  in  what  light  poets,  whose  only  object  is  to  observe 
the  human  heart,  have  considered  conscience,  and  what 
they  have  supposed  to  be  its  functions."  The  apology 
for  those  who  require  it  :  not  for  us.  Few,  if  any  of  his 
readers,  will  turn  hastily  over  the  pages  where  these  little 
scraps  of  poetry  are  found  :  few  will  skip  over,  many  will 
skip  towards  these  green  spots  (evergreen)  in  the  over- 
tilled  field:  So  over-tilled,  so  worn  out,  that  not  even 
this  man  can  give  to  it  any  freshness. 

A  wonderfully  complex  thing  these  writers  on  Intellec 
tual  and  Moral  Philosophy  would  make  of  man's  nature. 
They  treat  largely  of  his  animal  faculties  and  functions; 
of  his  intellectual  faculties,  making  we  know  not  how 
many  divisions,  and  subdivisions,  and  of  his  moral  facul 
ties  quite  as  many  more.  Over  and  above  all  they  place 
his  religious  faculty  or  faculties  :  surely  in  a  very  perilous 
situation  on  the  top  of  such  a  crazy  edifice.  On  this  edifice 
every  Professor  of  Moral  Architecture  works  ;  suggesting, 
and  making  alterations  ;  or,  as  each  names  them,  improve 
ments.  One  plucks  down  a  pillar  here ;  another  sets  one 
up  there  :  very  many  work  on  the  binders.  The  greater 


70  PEBBLEBROOK. 

part,  however,  having  little  skill,  patch  the  roof.  In 
numerable  are  the  guides  and  showmen  standing  here, 
and  there,  and  every  where,  to  point  out  the  beauties  and 
excellencies  of  the  thing.  Of  these  men  there  is  indeed 
much  need ;  as  else,  all  simple,  uninitiated  men  would 
see  nothing  but  deformity.  Now  and  then  a  very  bold 
man,  a  Spurzheim  for  instance,  pronounces  this  world's 
wonder  to  be  naught ;  and  straightway  begins  to  build 
another.  He  works  pretty  well  at  first,  being  obliged  to 
make  a  beginning,  and  build  on  something.  He  and  his 
journeymen,  however,  keep  at  work,  (as  men  must,  being 
very  busy  animals,)  and  soon  the  lookers-on  begin  to  see 
the  work  they  are  making,  and  to  suspect  that  the  new 
thing  will,  in  time,  be  as  bad  as  the  other,  or  even  worse. 
Any  idle  man  in  want  of  business  may  follow  out  our 
figure  until  he  tires  of  it ;  but  we,  having  just  now  other 
work  on  hand,  drop  it  ;  only  saying  here,  that,  there  are 
men  who  think  all  buildings  of  this  kind  naught.  Such 
men  are,  by  Moral  Philosophers  and  Phrenologists,  named 
simpletons.  This  present  writer,  not  being  averse  to  this 
name,  avows  himself  one  of  these  men. 

Many  seekers  after  truth  there  are,  who  long  for  some 
simple,  useful  things ;  things  having  in  them  the  principle 
of  life.  From  all  quarters  the  hungry  cry  out  for  bread  ; 
and  instead  thereof  get  stones.  Such  want  simple  truth  ; 
and  not  complex  moral  science.'  What  is  this  science  of 
morals,  this  overgrown,  sprawling  thing,  of  which  the 
elements  fill  three  hundred  and  ninety-eight  pages  ?  What 
is  this  thing  which  no  man  understands,  and  which, 
therefore,  no  man  can  use  to  any  profit  ?  except,  indeed, 
that  it  may  get  him  some  world-wages  as  Professor  of 
Morality.  Consider  this  thing  well,  this  science  of 
morals !  How  many  men  understand  even  its  terms '? 


A     REJECTED     ARTICLE.  71 

One  in  a  thousand,  perhaps,  has,  in  academies  and  col 
leges,  studying  hard,  learned  its  technicalities,  and  got 
thereby  sore  eyes ;  ever  after  he  must  grope  about  in 
darkness,  talking  much  about  the  way,  and  having  much 
need  oflogic  to  demonstrate  that  which  he  cannot  see. 
Such  are  "  blind  leaders  of  the  blind;  "  having  proved 
to  their  followers  that  as  they,  the  leaders,  cannot  see, 
therefore  no  one  can  see.  This  science  of  morals  is  an 
attempt  to  shew  that  an  individual  man  has  no  oneness. 
That  he  is  not  only  complex,  but  made  up  of  many  to 
tally  different  and  distinct  things.  Now  we  think  rather 
that  there  is  simplicity  in  all  things  created  by  God. 
The  simple  thing  (not  the  silly)  is  always  the  true  thing. 
This,  therefore,  is  the  thing  which  all  men  need,  and 
could  oftener  get,  if  so  many  logicians  were  not  at  work 
putting  it  out  of  sight.  The  reader  here  will  not  be  sur 
prised  when  we  say  that  we  are  no  lover  of  logic,  no  ad 
mirer  of  logicians.  Logic  is  pretty  good  in  its  place,  but 
its  place  is  not  the  highest  even  among  wordy  things. 
When  man  speaks  to  the  Eternal,  he  must  speak  in  sim 
plicity,  or  he  speaks  in  vain.  The  speech  of  God  is  ever 
simple,  whether  it  come  in  the  still,  small  voice  to  the 
good,  or  the  awful  thunder-peal  to  the  wicked.  Logic  is  •> 
no  life-giving  thing.  The  life  of  men  in  whom  moral 
logic  has  done  its  thorough  work,  is  a  moral  nullity  ;  a 
stagnant  pool,  in  which  no  living  thing  is  found.  The 
life  of  men  of  mere  impulse  is  a  better  thing.  The  moun 
tain  torrent,  as  it  dashes  on  its  way,  throws  up  to  its  sur 
face  many  a  foul  thing  ;  and  often  the  whole  stream  be 
comes  impure ;  but  the  principle  of  life  is  in  it,  and  on 
its  spirit-like  spray  the  morning  sun  makes  the  bow  of 
promise.  We  would  fain  follow  this  mountain  stream  to 
the  ocean  —  for  to  that  it  goes  —  but  we  are  fearful  of 


TZ  PEBBLEBROOK. 

saying  fine  things  by  the  way,  and,  having  already  so 
sinned,  we  forbear.  Action  is  an  indispensable  thing. 
Always  the  active  thing  is  the  vital,  the  purifying  one  ; 
always  the  sluggish  thing  is  the  dying,  the  corrupting 
one. 

We  are,  as  we  said,  no  admirer  of  logicians.  The  best 
of  them  are  bad  enough,  and  the  worst  are  worse  than 
we  will  name.  Instead  of  shewing  things,  so  that  other 
men  can  see  them,  and  thus  know  somewhat,  they  at 
tempt  to  prove,  by  means  of  many  words,  that  certain 
things  exist,  can  be  used,  ought  to  be  used,  but  only  so- 
and-so  :  the  consequences  of  using  and  abusing,  &.C.&.C.; 
all  the  while  keeping  the  things  out  of  sight.  But  per 
haps  we  wrong  them  ;  let  us  rather  say  that  they  have  be 
come  blind  in  their  logic  work,  and  cannot  themselves 
see  the  things  they  talk  about.  Very  wonderful  work 
these  blind  logicians  make.  Did  our  readers  ever  chance 
to  see  a  treatise  on  toes  ?  The  logician,  dividing  his  sub 
ject  into  two  divisions  of  five  parts  each,  and  taking  it  for 
granted  that  there  is  a  right  little  toe,  he,  secondly,  proves 
that  there  must  be,  and  therefore  is,  another  toe  a  little 
larger,  very  near,  and  probably  touching,  the  first.  So 
he  goes  on,  thirdly,  fourthly,  and  fifthly,  in  the  regular 
order  of  logic,  up  to  the  great  toe  of  the  first  division. 
Thence,  by  analogy,  he  goes  over  to  the  great  toe  of  the 
second  division,  and  downward,  reversing  his  arguments, 
through  all  the  parts  of  that  division,  to  the  left  little  toe; 
proving  —  and  this  is  the  great  conclusion  —  the  two 
little  toes  to  be  brothers;  not  brothers-in-law,  nor  half 
brothers,  but  born  brothers  of  the  same  mother  ;  twins. 
At  this  conclusion,  no  doubt,  the  blind  rejoiced ;  and 
others,  with  spectacles,  looking  downward,  said,  how  pro 
per  to  begin  with  the  right  little  toe  :  how  true  the  whole : 


A     REJECTED     ARTICLE.  73 

what  wonderful  logic  !  Did  our  readers  ever  see  this 
piece  of  logic,  or  any  piece  like  it  1  Work  of  this  kind 
is,  however,  the  best  for  a  thorough-bred  logician.  Work 
ing  on  moral  subjects,  he  seems  very  l.ke  a  man  jumping 
in  soft  mud  ;  each  successive  leap  he  calls  taking  a  good 
position,  though  he  sink  to  the  middle.  See  him  now 
extricating  himself,  drawing  up  one  leg,  and  then  the 
other  ;  with  much  difficulty  preparing  for  another  leap. 
Now  he  has  cleared  the  mud  from  his  eyes,  and  can 
almost  see  the  point  he  aims  at.  After  much  floundering 
and  preparatory  work,  he  jumps  again,  and  so  on  ;  it  be 
ing,  sometimes,  evident  to  the  lookers-on  that  the  muddy 
man  has  really  made  progress.  Few  men  of  business 
ever  wait  to  see  him  through  ;  and  many  of  them  wonder 
that  any  man  should  take  to  the  mud-pool  while  good 
firm  ground  is  near  at  hand. 

The  writers  on  moral  culture  treat  of  moral  soil  too 
much  as  a  thing  every  where  the  same ;  we  think  rather, 
that  it  is  not  so,  but  quite  otherwise  :  in  some  places  over- 
tilled,  worn-out,  bearing  nothing,  or  only  sickly  plants ; 
in  others,  quite  neglected,  though  covered  with  a  wild, 
luxuriant  vegetation  ;  and  in  others  again,  a  sandy  desert, 
in  which  nothing  can  grow,  unless,  indeed,  the  waters  of 
life  were  turned  into  it.  It  were  well  if  these  men  would 
go  into  the  fields  of  agriculture,  and  take  some  lessons  of 
the  husbandmen  there.  In  those  fields,  men  are  really 
cultivators  of  the  soil,  and  not  mere  talkers  about  the 
thing.  Each  man  works  on  his  own  homestead,  thus 
shewing  his  neighbors  what  can  be  done.  Are  there  not 
there  some  fields  lying  f.  How,  and  in  all  a  rotation  of 
crops?  Here  again  we  say,  that  men  prone  to  run  things 
to  the  death  may  follow  out  our  figure  ;  we,  having  no  de 
light  in  a  mere  carcass,  leave  it  on  its  legs.  In  this  con- 
7 


74 


PEBBLEBROOK. 


nexion  it  should  be  said,  that  the  able  man  who  desires 
to  make  a  book  on  moral  culture  for  his  fellow-men  to 
read,  and  profit  by,  should  make  but  one;  the  simple  and 
honest  history  of  his  own  life,  his  own  work ;  to  be  pub 
lished  when  the  writer  had  departed.  Of  such  books  we 
have  none  ;  or  very  few  ;  of  others,  more  than  enough. 

In  our  highest  scripture  it  is  written  "  work  out  your 
own  salvation  with  fear  and  trembling."  True  in  the  be 
ginning,  and  true  now.  Salvation  is  not  gained  by  mere 
words  ;  it  must  be  worked  out  by  each  man  for  himself. 
Almost  vain  is  even  the  recorded  experience  of  others ; 
quite  vain  the  counsels  of  the  learned  ;  these  are,  to  each 
man,  lessons  not  written  in  his  book  of  life  ;  and  there 
fore,  by  these  he  profits  not  much.  On  this  book,  his 
Book  of  Life,  each  man  must  work  ;  must  set  his  own 
types,  read  and  correct  his  own  proof-sheets,  work  his  own 
press,  and,  as  the  sheets  are  finished,  bind  them  together. 
It  must  be  mainly  his  own  work  or  it  were  worthless. 
Others  may  meddle  in  the  beginn  ng  of  th  s  book  of  life, 
(alas  !  too  much) ;  but  its  finis  is  the  author's  dying  gasp. 
This  is  to  each,  his  Book  of  books,  and  in  this  he  must 
read  :  otherwise  all  else  were  dark  to  him. 

"  Words,"  it  has  been  said,  "  are  things  :  "  and  again, 
it  has  been  said,  "  Words  are  not  things."  Both  sayings 
are  true  in  part.  Words  or  names,  are  things  to  him  who 
knows  by  his  own  "experience  the  things  named  so  com 
pletely,  that  the  utterance  of  the  name  (the  right  name,) 
brings  the  thing  before  him,  so  that  he  can  see  it. 
When  words  fail  to  do  this  they  are  not  things,  but 
mere  sounds,  of  not  much  significance.  All  the  words 
written  in  one's  own  book  of  life  are  things  to  him,  but 
to  no  other  in  the  same  kind  or  degree  of  meaning  as  to 
him.  By  these  words  of  knowledge  each  man  must  in- 


A     REJECTED     ARTICLE.  75 

terpret  the  words  of  other  men,  whether  written  or  oral. 
No  wonder  then,  that  there  is  so  much  difference  of  opin 
ion  ;  so  much  logic ;  so  much  complaint  of  unfairness ; 
so  much  giving  of  useless  advice.  The  man  prone  to 
give  advice  to  all  around  him,  could  not  do  better  than 
hold  his  tongue,  and  learn  to 

" walk  with  man  from  day  to  day, 

As  with  a  brother  and  a  friend.'' 

In  regard  to  moral  speech  there  is  yet  another  difficulty, 
arising  from  the  multiplication  of  words.  Our  written 
language  is,  by  many,  supposed  to  have  reached  its  ut 
most  point  of  perfection.  We  think,  rather,  that  it  has 
reached  something  else  ;  its  utmost  limit  of  expansion. 
Once  it  embraced  many  things  :  now  it  covers  and  hides 
all  moral  things,  so  that  one  may  go  through  whole  vol 
umes,  with  spectacles,  on  nose  even,  and  see  nothing. 
The  number  of  moral  truths  with  which  we  can  deal  is 
surely  limited  ;  increasing  if  at  all  very  slowly  :  but  of 
words  there  is  no  end,  and  therefore  to  the  making  of 
books  no  end.  Every  new  word  added  to  our  vocabu 
lary  weakens  some  other  word  or  words  ;  and  this  ad 
dition  has  gone  on  so  long,  that  our  names  have  become 
strangely  debilitated  :  so  weak  indeed,  that  few  of  them 
seem  strong  enough  to  stand  alone,  and  each  must  be 
propped  up  by  many  others  :  many  words  being  nearly 
synonymous  with  each  other,  few,  if  any,  quite  so.  It  is 
not,  however,  the  intention  of  this  writer  to  treat  critical 
ly  of  language  :  which  indeed  many  a  Professor  of  Rhet 
oric  will  say,  he  is  poorly  qualified  to  do  :  but  this  we 
will  say  ;  that,  at  this  day,  our  whole  literature  looks  like 
a  decayed,  crumbling,  ivy-covered  city.  Few  buildings 
there  can  stand  alone,  but,  for  the  most  part,  each  leans 
on  another ;  and  even  that  one,  (our  Bible,)  the  strong- 


76  PEBBLEBROOK. 

est  building  there,  is  deemed  an  unfit  dwelling -place  for 
any  finely  dressed  soul.  Literary  fops  and  dandies  abhor 
it ;  and  only  the  poor  and  the  needy  go  there  for  shelter 
and  rest.  How  busy  are  the  workers  in  this  old  city. 
Some  of  them,  painting  old  buildings,  call  them  new. 
Others,  from  the  materials  of  the  fallen  ones,  raise  an 
edifice  and  boast  of  their  work  as  original.  Worse  yet ; 
some  dishonest  builders  steal  all  their  solid  materials  from 
their  neighbors,  and  using  only  mortar  of  their  own  (poor 
cement  it  is)  say :  this  is  all  our  work.  Very  few  of  these 
buildings  are  good  :  the  greater  part  being  for  show  and 
not  for  use.  Many  lovers  of  this  kind  of  architecture, 
looking  at  the  things  hastily,  say  ;  "  quite  pretty,"  "  very 
interesting,"  "  pretty  good  thing,"  and  go  on  their  way 
to  others  :  paying  such  fees  for  the  sight  of  each,  that  the 
workmen  get  their  living,  and  get  also  fame.  Such  fame  ! 
Their  names  being  on  the  front  doors  of  things  which 
must  fall  to-morrow.  The  ivy  trainers  too  are  at  work 
forming  wreaths  :  so  pretty  ;  so  poisonous  too  !  Strange 
enough  this  whole  thing  looks.  Now  and  then,  however, 
an  edifice  is  raised  by  some  hard  working,  honest  builder  : 
who,  going  out  of  the  city  into  the  native  quarries,  gets 
materials  not  before  used,  and  makes  an  original  work. 
Such  buildings  stand  through  many  ages :  and  some,  so 
built,  even  strengthen  with  age.  That  one  of  which  we 
spoke,  (our  Bible)  though  not  a  place  of  resort  for  the 
"  higher  classes,"  is  the  best  building  in  this  tumble 
down  city.  Men,  foolishly  enou/rh,  have  been  at  work 
propping  it,  and  so  led  many  to  doubt  its  strength.  But 
it  is  strong,  wondrous  strong  ;  firmly  based  (on  eternal 
truth)sand  must  stand. 

Nothwithstanding  what   we  have  said  of  modern  lan 
guage,  we  believe  that  there  are  words  of  moral  meaning, 


A     REJECTED     ARTICLE.  77 

and  moral  precepts,  having  strength  to  stand  alone.  All 
men  would  see  and  believe  in  their  strength,  if  the  men 
of  logic  would  let  them  alone.  The  sturdy  oak,  deep 
rooted,  is,  as  all  can  see,  able  to  stand  against  the  heav 
iest  whirlwind  :  but  prop  it  up  on  every  side  and  all  will 
say,  it  is  rotten,  decayed,  weak  :  else,  why  so  many 
props  ?  One  word,  not  much  used  in  books  of  moral 
science,  we  believe  can  stand  alone  if  so  set  up ;  and 
quite  fearlessly  we  shew  it :  Honesty.  Rhetoricians,  lo 
gicians,  and  other  men  of  many  words  may  be  fearful, 
and  doubt  its  ability  to  stand.  Such  may  place  their 
little  observatories  around,  though  afar  off,  and,  with  the 
instruments  they  have  got,  examine  it.  If  seen  aright,  it 
would  appear  an  upright  thing,  leaning  neither  to  this 
side  nor  that ;  to  one  class  of  men,  nor  to  another.  In 
struments  however,  being  defective,  and  the  atmosphere 
often  refractive,  we  fear  that  such  men  will  not  see  it 
aright.  Let  them,  therefore,  rather  go  into  the  thing  and 
so  know  it.  Many  of  them  would  then,  doubtless,  dwell 
there. 

At  the  bottom  of  all  systems  of  morality,  we  are  quite 
sure  there  must  be  something  :  and  that  is  what  we  want ; 
that  is  the  thing  could  we  but  get  at  it.  This,  however, 
is  difficult,  and  would  be  impossible,  were  it  not  that  these 
systems  often  fall  down,  or  are  pulled  down,  so  that  in 
favorable  moments  the  thing  we  look  for  can  almost  be 
seen.  Looking  at  this  heap  and  the  other  heap,  we  are 
almost  certain,  that  the  thing  beneath  is  this  one  which  we 
have  named  ;  honesty  ;  and  no  other.  If  any  at  this 
word  think  only  of  paying  one's  money  debts,  such  are 
among  the  money  changers  in  the  temple.  Those  who 
can  think  of  it  only  as  a  part  of  man's  duty  are  mere  lo 
gicians,  or  led  captive  of  such,  who  never  yet  saw  the 
7* 


78  PEBBLEBROOK. 

whole  of  anything  ;  and  who,  with  much  effort,  strive  to 
convince  themselves  and  others,  that  there  must  be  a 
whole.  Perfect,  man  cannot  be :  Honest,  man  may  be. 
This,  therefore,  and  not  that,  is  his  duty.  Only  through 
honesty  can  he  discover,  and  put  forth  the  God-given  force 
that  is  in  him ;  and  thus  reach  almost  to  perfection. 

As  to  the  difficulty  of  knowing  our  particular  duties, 
we  have  found  in  a  book  of  moral  science,  this  :  "  it  is 
not  the  duty  of  every  member  of  society  to  do  every 
thing."  At  first  thought,  it  would  seem  quite  useless  to 
make  such  an  utterance  anywhere  :  but  not  so.  At  the 
end  of  one  of  these  moral  systems  it  is  a  cheering  thing  ; 
very  useful,  and,  indeed,  quite  necessary.  But  we  have 
found  elsewhere  —  where  we  go  often  —  better  things. 
"  Doubt  of  any  kind  cannot  be  removed  except  by 
action.1'  "  Do  the  duty  which  lies  nearest  thee  ;  which 
thou  knowest  to  be  a  duty  /  Thy  second  duty  will  al 
ready  have  become  clearer."  Where  this  first  appeared 
we  know  not,  but  we  are  quite  sure  it  is  a  God-planted 
thing  and  must  bear  good  fruit.  "  Do  the  duty  which 
lies  nearest  thee."  Let  any  man  act  honestly  on  this  pre 
cept  and  he  never  can  be  idl  \  but  must  ever  work  in 
well-doing.  By  the  side  of  that  moral  precept  this  relig 
ious  one,  seeming  to  be  akin  to  it,  may  stand.  Worship 
the  good  thou  knowest  to  be  such  :  so  shall  thy  knowl 
edge  of  good  grow  towards  the  All-Good. 

If  we  would  know  what  this  thing,  Honesty,  is,  we 
must  look  at  the  thing  opposite,  standing  against  it,  Hy 
pocrisy.  None  of  us  need  go  far  to  see  this  :  'tis  around 
us  and  within  us  all.  Many  men  seem  to  be  marked  by 
it ;  yet  somehow,  have  no  more  of  it  than  just  enough  to 
make  them  "  respectable."  Did  the  reader  ever  chance 
to  see  in  warehouses'or  on  piers,  boxes  marked  "  this  side 


A    REJEGTEP    ARTJ'CkE..  79 

up  with  care  ? "  Very  many  men  there  are,  on  whom 
this  same  inscription  is  visible.  These  are  human  pack 
ages,  not  to  be  rolled  over  ;  containing,  like  the  other  boxes, 
glass  ware,  very  brittle.  Other  men,  like  other  boxes, 
bear  this  mark;  "not  to  be  opened,  except  by  the  con 
signee."  Such  probably,  contain  contraband  articles, 
consigned  to  the  Devil.  This  thing,  Hypocrisy,  we  be 
lieve  to  be  the  deadly  sin.  Other  sins,  sensual  sins, 
spring  from  the  body  and  end  with  that  at  death :  through 
honesty,  they  may  receive  immediate  punishment  and  so 
be  forgiven.  This  sin,  Hypocrisy,  originates  elsewhere, 
perpetuates  itself,  and  is  the  cloak  under  which  all  other 
sins  seek  shelter.  We  name  it  again  the  deadly  sin,  grow 
ing  into  the  sin  against  the  Holy  Ghost.  The  Holy 
Ghost !  What  is  it  ?  Is  it  not  the  in-dwelling  God,  the 
Conscience,  ever  pointing  to  the  known  duty  ?  When 
Hypocrisy  has  attained  to  its  full  stature  and  strength,  it 
says  to  conscience  ;  "  Unreal  mockery,  hence."  The 
Good,  the  Holy  Ghost,  departs  :  and  the  man  who  com 
mits  this  great  sin  is  thenceforth  among  the  brutes  that 
perish.  Shall  not  his  dwelling  hereafter  be  with  annihi 
lation  ?  Heavier  doom  than  this  we  know  not  :  heavier 
far  than  future  punishment,  the  punishment  of  God,  lead 
ing  to  good.  This,  compared  to  that,  were  a  blessing. 

It  were  well  to  consider  the  cost  of  one  essential  lie  : 
how  many  must  follow  to  cover  and  hide  it ;  and  if  it  ap 
pear,  how  many  to  excuse  it.  How  much  invention,  to 
say  no  more  of  it,  is  thus  wasted.  To  appear  good  ia 
the  business  of  many  men's  lives.  To  this  end  they  work, 
and  in  this  work  are  wasted  ;  so  that  they  have  neither 
time,  nor  strength,  to  be  good.  In  this  way  the  whole 
life  grows  up  into  a  Lie  ;  hurtful  to  all  around,  useless  to 
all  who  come  after  :  a  fair  seeming  "  green  bay  tree ;  "  out 
wardly  in  appearance  quite  sound ;  inwardly  altogether 


80  PEBBLEBROOK. 

rotten,  so  that  when  it  falls,  it  is  unfit  even  for  fuel.    The 
dweller  in    Hypocrisy   becomes   at  last  like  that  Bastile 
prisoner,  who  dwelt  so  long  in  the  cells  of  darkness,  that 
when  brought  into  the  light  of  open  day,  he  found  it  in- 
supportably  painful,  and   turned   again  to  the  darkness  of 
his  prison-house.    Hypocrisy  is  indeed  the  Devil's  strong 
hold   and  hiding-place,  where  he  works  unseen.     In   the 
elsewhere   of  which  we   spoke,   it  is   written  j  "  truly  a 
thinking  man  is  the   greatest   enemy  the  Prince  of  Dark 
ness  can  have."     Were  this  written  honest  man,  we  could 
say,  Amen.     Thorough  honesty  is  the  whole  duty  of  man  : 
in  it  lies  all,  wrapped  up  as  is  the  mighty  tree  in  the  little 
seed ;   goodness,  true  greatness  is  in  it.    Faith,  that  won 
der  working  thing,  is  in  Honesty.  Can  the  dishonest  man 
have  faith  in  himself,  in  other  men,  or  in  God?     Whom 
he,   being    dishonest,  knows  not  and  cannot  know.     Let 
no  man,   having  the  desire  to  be  good,  be  afraid  of  hon 
esty.     Let   him  show  what  is  in  him  ;  even  the  evil,  and 
so  shame  it,  and   it  will  fly  from   him.     Nay,  if  it  leave 
him  not,   how  harmless  is  it  when  shewn  and  so  known 
by  all  men.     Through  the  long  voyage,  amid  darkness 
and  storm,  the  bold  navigator  on  the  trackless  ocean  goes 
fearlessly   onward,  relying  on  a  wrong  and  ever    erring 
thing  :  but  the  error   and  its  rate  too  are  known.     Very 
useful  to  him  is  his  chronometer.     Knowing  its  error,  he 
easily   learns  his  progress  in   time,  and  so  his  departure 
from  a  given  point.     But  if  he  know  not  the  error,  how 
great   is  the  evit,  how  perilous  the  voyage  !     Practically, 
the  known   evil,   known  as  such,  is  hardly  an  evil ;  and 
the  unknown  good  is  hardly  a  good.     Thy  watch,  Read 
er,  is  wrong :  yet  if  thou  know  it  fully  how  far  it  is  wrong , 
what  evil  is  it  ?     Addition   or   subtraction  will  give  thee 
the  true   time  of  day.     Thy  watch  is  right ;  yet  if  thou 


A     REJECTED     ARTICLE.  81 

do  not  know  it  to  be  so,  what  good  is  it  ?  The  day  wears 
away,  and  the  dark  night  comes  before  thy  work  is  done. 

An  honest  man !  thoroughly  honest,  where  can  such 
be  found?  One  Honest  Man  has  been  on  Earth,  Jesus 
of  Nazareth  :  tempted  like  as  we  are,  yet  without  sin. 
Ye.a,  tempted  of  the  Devil.  It  were  well  to  consider  this 
thing  ;  the  Temptation  in  the  Wilderness.  Jesus  follow 
ed  the  Devil  for  a  time,  listened  to  all  the  Evil  Spirit  said 
to  him,  and  replied,  (among  other  things,)  "  get  thee  be 
hind  me,  Satan."  "  And  when  the  Devil  had  ended  the 
temptation,  he  departed  from  him  for  a  time."  Who  told 
this  to  the  world  1  What  use  have  many  of  the  professed 
followers  of  Jesus  made  of  this  invaluable  lesson  ?  "  Wo 
unto  you,  Scribes  and  Pharisees,  hypocrites !  for  ye  are 
as  graves  which  appear  not ;  and  the  men  that  walk  over 
them,  are  not  aware  of  them." 

True  greatness,  we  said  is  in  Honesty  :  and  strangely 
enough,  even  false  greatness  seems  to  spring  from  a  kind 
of  honesty.  Look  for  instance  at  the  temple  of  Mam 
mon.  Who  is  greatest  among  the  worshippers  there  ? 
He  who  is  most  honest  to  his  god  :  though  false  to  much, 
sometimes  to  all  beside.  He,  —  honest  in  dishonesty, 
true  to  a  falsehood  —  gives  his  whole  being  to  his  false 
god,  and  becomes  famous.  We  have  published  lives 
of  such  men  ;  telling  us,  among  other  wonderful  things, 
that  when  two  such  met  together  to  talk  about  their  wor 
ship,  one  of  them  (the  greatest.)  said:  "  we  can  talk  of 
this  matter  just  as  well  in  the  dark  ;  "  and  so  saying,  put 
out  the  farthing  candle  he  had  lighted  :  his  god  forbidding 
light.  Verily,  these  men  have  a  kind  of  greatness  ;  for 
they  shew  other  men  to  what  that  false  worship  leads. 

A  little  honesty,  which  is  really  honesty,  w  11  do  more 
for  a  man,  even  in  this  world,  than  all  outward  seeming. 


82  PEBBLEBROOK. 

As  an  example,  this  is  worthy  of  consideration.  A  man 
born  into  the  humblest  class  of  society,  uneducated  in 
"  Seminaries,"  poor,  intemperate,  licentious  in  some 
things  :  while  in  the  body  scorned  by  the  rich  and  titled  ; 
shunned  by  the  ''  respectable,"  anathamatized,  yet  dread 
ed  by  the  Pharisees ;  thit  man  has  held,  and  still  holds, 
a  wider  and  deeper  influence  than  any  of  his  cotempo- 
rary  countrymen.  More  than  this  we  may  say.  Faulty  as 
he  was,  yea,  vicious  even,  he  exerts  at  this  day  a  better 
influence  than  any  one  of  them.  Strange,  inscrutable, 
this  has  seemed  :  but  not  so  now.  Read  all  the  lives  that 
have  been  written  of  Robert  Burns,  down  to  that  sum 
ming  up  of  Thomas  Carlyle's  ;  that  partial  separating  of 
error  from  truth  ;  and  it  will  be  seen  that  Burns  was  partly 
honest  —  as  the  world  goes,  very  honest :  and  thus  very 
great.  Those  who  will,  may  scoff  at  this,  and  ask  ;  had 
not  Burns  genius  ?  To  such  we  say  ;  yes  :  and  in  our 
turn  ask;  What  is  genius?  By  and  by,  perhaps,  some 
one  will  see  and  shew  that  genius  is  part  of  Honesty  : 
the  lesser  and  not  the  greater.  Here  we  say  only  this. 
Consider  what  honesty  must  do  for  a  man,  when  it  comes 
to  him  through  many  generations ;  and  so,  in  him,  is 
"  bred  in  the  bone."  "  The  sins  of  the  fathers  are  visit 
ed  on  the  children,"  and  so  verily  are  the  virtues.  Again 
we  say,  Robert  Burns  was  almost  honest  and  therefore  is 
very  great. 

Of  sensual  sin  we  know  not  how  to  speak : 

"  One  point  must  still  be  greatly  dark, 
The  moving  why  we  do  it." 

Just  in  proportion  to  the  tide  of  life  flowing  through 
the  veins,  is  the  strength  of  the  unavoidable  temptation  : 
and  when  we  think  of  Burns  in  the  body,  we  almost  pity 
him;  though  at  this  distance  we  can  love  him.  Out  of 


A     REJECTED     ARTICLE.  83 

'*• 

the  body,  we  all  honor  him ;  and  even  the  writer  of  the 
"Elements  of  Moral  Science,"  who  is  of  the  "  straightest 
sect  of  our  religion,"  quotes  Robert  Burns  without  re 
probation.  Let  no  reader  here  think  we  would  point  to 
such  men  as  Burns  as  to  models  :  quite  otherwise  :  we 
hold  him  up  as  a  lesson  to  other  men  ;  a  very  useful  les 
son.  His  faults  even,  through  his  honest  shewing  of  them, 
have  at  this  day  increased  its  usefulness.  Sin  seen  stand 
ing  side  by  side  with  its  punishment,  is,  though  not  good, 
very  useful.  One  Honest  Man,  we  said,  has  been  on 
Earth  without  sin  :  the  Saviour  of  men.  He  is  the  model. 
Could  any  one  attain  to  the  perfection  of  that  model, 
though  the  world  might  crucify  his  body,  yet  would  he 
ever  live  even  on  Earth  ;  and  in  Heaven  !  — 

We  cannot  believe  that  this  world  is,  as  many  assert, 
full  of  evil.  The  tide  of  human  life  is  a  vast  stream 
flowing  onward  to  Eternal  Life.  The  main  current  is 
a  stream  of  good,  pouring  onward  to  the  All-Good. 
What  is  that  which  we  name  Evil  but  the  eddy-current 
near  the  shores  of  Time?  Is  it  not  in  Time  a  part  of 
Good  ?  Were  there  no  eddies  would  not  the  main  current, 
in  its  strength,  wear  away  the  shores  of  Time  ?  and  then, 
what  were  Time?  That  whirling  and  boiling  which  we 
name  awful  is  indeed  so :  but  action  is  there,  and  that, 
as  we  said,  is  the  purifying  thing,  and  all  is  working  to 
gether  for  good.  Even  the  eddies  (of  evil)  where  do  they 
go?  Are  they  not  by  every  Headland  turned  outward 
from  the  shores  into  the  main  stream?  Whence  came 
this  tide  of  life,  this  stream  of  good  ?  We  see  it  flowing 
onward  to  Eternity  ;  and  know  also  that  it  came  thence. 
Invisibly,  or  but  dimly  seen,  in  exhalations  from  that 
Ocean  it  arises,  and  (in  clouds)  by  the  upper  influences, 
is  wafted  Timeward.  Bold  swimmer  in  Time,  fear  not 


84  PEBBLEBROOK. 

but  strike  out  for  thy  life  into  the  living  tide  of  life. 
Rest  thou  must  on  the  shores  of  Time,  and  dream  such 
dreams  as  thou  callest  reflection  :  but  go  not  near  the 
marshes  where  are  the  pools  of  stagnation.  Rest  not 
long,  and  rest  near  the  Headlands,  where  thou  mayest 
see  the  eddies  of  evil  turning  into  the  current  of  good. 
Standing  there,  out-looking  on  the  wide  stream,  thou 
mayest  see  the  rocks  (of  deadly  sin)  and  seeing  learn  to 
shun  them :  but  think  not  to  go  onward  unwounded. 
There  are  dangers  hidden  (by  Hypocrisy)  how  canst 
thou  escape  such  unhurt  ?  Bold  swimmer,  be  honest, 
else  indeed  how  canst  thou  be  bold  ?  Shew  thy  stains 
and  wounds  to  thy  fellow-voyagers ;  and  shew  also,  if 
thou  can,  what  stained,  what  harmed  thee.  So  shalt 
thou  do  good  to  all  men.  How  shadowy  are  these  fig 
ures  !  but  what  could  we  do  without  them  ?  The  things 
seen  are  the  Time-shadows  of  the  unseen,  the  Eternal. 
Dark  atheist !  seeing  the  shadows  even,  how  canst  thou 
say ;  there  is  no  Sun  ? 

This  Earth  is  one  of  the  schoolrooms  of  Eternity  ;  and 
Change  is  the  schoolmaster  of  all  the  children  of  Time. 
Here  then  we  learn  the  rudiments  of  that  knowledge 
which  fits  us  for  the  business  of  Eternity.  In  a  narrow 
sense,  it  has  been  said,  and  echoed,  and  re-echoed,  far  and 
wide  ;  "  the  schoolmaster  is  abroad  "  True  in  a  far  wider 
sense.  He  is  abroad  now,  and  has  been  from  the  begin 
ning,  and  will  be  to  the  end.  Evermore  he  repeats  his 
lessons  to  the  comers  from  the  womb  of  Time  ;  and  gives 
his  last  great  lesson  to  each  scholar  as  each  departs. 
The  full  significance  of  that  lesson  the  living  know  not, 
but  only  the  dead  ;  born  into  another  life,  become  of  age, 
and  free.  Who  profit  by  the  lessons  in  the  schoolroom 
of  Earth  ?  Not  the  hypocritical  who  walk  in  the  crook- 


A     REJECTED     ARTICLE.  85 

ft 

ed  and  narrow  ways  of  concealment,  with  the  darkness 
of  falsehood  around  and  within  them  ;  what  can  such 
see  ?  but  the  honest  who  walk  over  the  open  fields,  in  the 
broad  day-light  of  Truth ;  what  can  such  not  see  ? 
Genius,  we  said,  is  part  of  Honesty  :  consider  it  well.  The 
Hypocrite  shuts  himself  in,  and  so  shuts  truth  out.  The 
Honest  man  opens  himself  and  truth  enters.  Truth  is 
moral  light  and  must  enter  every  open  place.-  The  soul 
of  man  should  ever  be,  and  sometimes  is,  a  naked  mirror 
reflecting  faithful  images  of  things  presented  to  it.  Hy 
pocrisy  hangs  a  veil  over  that  mirror-like  soul :  thin, 
gauze-like  at  first,  the  veil  thickens  by  accumulation  of 
dirt,  until  moral  light  cannot  pierce  through  it,  and  no 
distinct  images  can  be  reflected.  Genius  is  a-seeing  and 
a-shewing  of  the  truth.  Is  it  not  in  honesty  ?  Talent 
may  dwell  in  Hypocrisy,  catching  up  the  images  which 
Genius  throws  abroad  and  shewing  them  by  candle-light. 
Genius  is  quite  another  thing. 

With  this  word,  Honesty;  let  no  logician  meddle. 
Bound  with  his  cords,  cut  up  by  his  knife  into  divisions, 
and  parts,  packed  in  his  barrel,  no  man  can  see  it. 
Avaunt !  thou  butcher  of  moral  things  :  the  groans  of 
thy  victims  come  painfully  to  every  hearing  ear ;  their 
dying  struggles  shock  the  seeing  eye ;  and  thy  whole 
work  wounds  the  feeling  heart.  Thy  vocation  is  not  to 
these  things.  Seekers  after  highest  truth !  go  not  to 
"  systems  of  morality,"  nor  listen  to  men  of  logic.  Go 
elsewhere,  and  listen  to  other  voices.  Read  what  Paul 
of  Tarsus  and  his  brethren  wrote  :  what  Jesus  of  Naza 
reth  uttered.  Listen  ever  to  the  voice  of  God.  So  shall 
ye  learn  to  work  out  your  own  salvation. 

Morality  is  the  study  and  performance  of  duty,  and  its 
rule  is  Honesty.     Religion  is  the   love  and  Worship  of 
8 


86  PEBBLEBROOK. 

Good  and  has  no  rule.  We  cannot  reason  about  Reli 
gion  :  it  is  too  simple.  We  cannot  argue  about  it :  it  is 
in  the  heart.  The  worship  of  any  good,  even  the  small 
est,  is  the  same  in  kind  as  the  worship  of  All  Good  ;  but 
in  degree  how  vast  the  difference  !  Morality  is  not  Re 
ligion  :  yet  how  intimately  connected  are  the  two  ;  how 
closely  joined.  On  Earth  they  are  wedded  together,  and 
all  the  Virtues  are  their  children.  In  Heaven,  morality 
is  swallowed  up  in  Religion.  In  the  highest  state  of 
being,  religion,  disappears  in  God :  in  God  from  whom 
all  goodness  comes ;  into  whom  all  goodness  flows. 


SUB-BIOGRAPHY    OF    PATRICK   HENRY.       87 


CHAPTER     X. 


SUB-BIOGRAPHY    OF     PATRICK    HENRY.* 

JOHN  HENRY  (father  of  our  Patrick,)  was  a  native  of 
Aberdeen  in  Scotland.  He  came,  fortune-seeking,  to 
Virginia,  sometime  prior  to  the  year  1730.  Mr.  Dinwid- 
die,  afterwards  governor  of  this  colony,  patronizes  and 
befriends  him ;  introduces  him  to  Colonel  Syme  of  Han 
over,  in  whose  family  he  becomes  domesticated.  This 
Colonel  Syme  dies  ;  Mr.  Henry  marries  his  widow  and 
resides  on  the  family  estate.  Thus  he  gets  the  fortune 
he  sought.  He  is  afterward  Colonel  of  regiment,  prin 
cipal  surveyor  of  the  County,  and  for  many  years  presid 
ing  magistrate  of  the  County  court.  A  plain,  solid  man, 
this  John  Henry  seems ;  and  withal,  it  is  said,  a  man  of 
integrity.  Some  years  after  John  comes  his  brother  Pat 
rick  to  Virginia.  A  clergyman  of  the  Church  of  Eng 
land,  brother  Patrick  is,  by  John's  influence,  appointed 
minister  of  St.  Paul's  parish  in  Hanover.  Mrs.  Henry, 
late  widow  of  Colonel  Syme,  soon  to  be  mother  of  Pat 
rick,  is  of  the  ancient  family  of  Winstons ;  and,  so  far 
as  we  can  learn,  is  a  good  enough  woman. 

Patrick  Henry  comes  to  this  world  on  the  29th  of  May, 
1736,  the  second  son  of  John  and  Sarah.  This  young 

*  See"  Sketches  of  the  Life  and  Character  of  Patrick  Henry,  by 
William  Wirt,"  &c.  —  3d  edition. 


88  PEBBLEEROOK. 

Patrick  grows  and  is  sent  to  a  school  in  the  neighborhood, 
where  he  learns  to  read,  and  write,  and  makes  some  pro 
gress  in  arithmetic.  When  he  is  ten  years  old  he  enters 
a  grammar  school,  which  his  father  opens  in  his  own 
house,  and  studies  Latin  and  Greek  ;  but  gets  not  much 
of  either.  He  is  what  is  called  idle,  this  boy,  and  makes 
no  proficiency  in  any  study  save  mathematics ;  which  is 
the  only  one  he  seems  to  like.  He  is  remarkable  for 
nothing,  if  it  be  not  for  his  hatred  of  study  and  work  of 
all  kinds  :  set  tasks  he  cannot  endure.  He  loves  to  roam 
through  the  forests  in  search  of  wild  deer,  or  to  lie  on  the 
bank  of  some  flowing  brook,  idly  watching  his  fishing 
buoy  ;  and  when  school  hours  arrive,  Patrick  is  among  the 
missing.  He  will  not  go  right,  this  idle  boy  :  he  will  not 
train  to  be  one  of  the  common  soldiers  of  life.  He  shall  go 
wrong  then,  and  hereafter  be  a  ruler  of  men.  His  father, 
good  easy  man,  seeing  his  son  will  go  this  way  of  his 
own,  lets  him.  Two  things,  however,  we  note  here  :  the 
boy  Patrick,  who  talks  not  much,  is  quiet  and  listens 
when  others  talk  ;  and  he  loves  to  be  alone  in  the  forest. 
Gossipping  neighbors  prophesy  for  this  boy  a  life  of  me 
diocrity,  of  insignificance  :  he  shall  not  be  money-getting, 
not  scientific,  not  even  genteel  :  What  in  the  World's 
name  then  can  he  be  ?  — We  shall  see. —  His  father  has 
an  increasing  family;  (increasing  finally  to  nine  children,) 
and  the  boys  must  pay  their  own  way  in  the  World.  He 
places  Patrick,  now  fifteen  years  old,  behind  the  counter 
of  a  country  trader,  to  learn,  if  he  can,  the  great  value  of 
a  brass  farthing.  The  next  year  the  father  believes  him 
qualified  to  turn  the  penny  on  his  own  account ;  and  pur 
chases  a  small  adventure  of  goods  for  his  two  sons,  Wil. 
Ham  and  Patrick  —  this  one  sixteen  years  old,  and  that  his 
senior  some  two  years  —  and  they  shall  trade  :  with  what 


SUB-BIOGRAPHY    OF     PATRICK    HENRY.        89 

I 

success  one  might  safelypredict  from  the  fact  that  William 
is,  if  possible,  still  idler  than  his  brother.  It  seems  too 
that  the  natural  kindness  of  Patrick's  temper  unfits  him 
for  trade.  "  He  cannot  find  it  in  his  heart  "  to  refuse 
credit  to  any  one  who  asks  it ;  and  an  apology  for  non 
payment  is  current  with  him.  He  hears  every  morning 
the  "  view  halloo  "  of  the  huntsmen,  and  sees  hound  and 
horse  sweep  by  him  to  the  spirit-stirring  chace,  and  turns, 
with  a  sigh,  to  that  place  whose  duties  are  higgling  for 
the  odd  ha'penny  or  stern  denial  of  the  wants  of  the  poor. 
As  the  best  solace  he  can  get,  he  learns  to  play  on  the 
violin  and  flute  ;  and  at  length  begins  to  read  books.  He 
studies  men  too  and  scrutinizes  every  customer  ;  not  with 
a  view  to  learn  the  state  of  his  purse,  but  rather  the  struc 
ture  of  his  mind,  the  depth  of  his  soul.  On  Saturdays, 
when  many  of  his  customers  (the  poor)  meet  at  his  store, 
and  (the  week's  labor  done)  are  cheerful  and  animated; 
he  delights  to  hear  them  talk  and  act  as  -Nature  prompts  : 
or  if  they  be  dull  and  silent,  he  excites  to  remark,  colli 
sion  and  exclamation.  The  business  of  the  store,  as  one 
may  suppose,  rushes  headlong  to  its  catastrophe.  "  One 
year  puts  an  end  to  it :  "  and  Patrick  is  employed  two  or 
three  years  winding  it  up.  William,  being  "  if  possible" 
idler  than  his  brother,  is  thrown  loose  upon  society.  And 
now  this  young  Patrick,  lacking  the  world's  cardinal  vir 
tue,  Prudence,  at  the  age  of  eighteen  years,  gets  married 
to  a  Miss  Shelton  ;  the  daughter  of  a  neighboring  farmer, 
honest,  and  poor.  The  parents  of  this  young  couple, 
however,  jointly  provide  for  them  a  small  farm,  on  which 
Mr.  Henry  delves  with  his  own  hands  for  subsistence. 
Here,  in  the  coarse  garb  of  a  laborer,  toiling  in  the  dust 
beneath  a  burning  sun,  we  see  Patrick  Henry  unknown 
and  unheard.  Hereafter  we  shall  see  him  standing  else- 
8* 


90  PEEBLES  ROOK. 

where,  and  speaking  with  a  Voice  heard  and  felt  in  two 
continents.  Forget  not,  Reader,  that  standing  here  or 
standing  there,  it  is  the  same  man  we  see  ;  and  let  us  learn 
to  honor  Man  and  not  his  garnitures.  He  stands  here,  how 
ever,  not  long,  but  soon  in  a  worse  place  :  that  trading  one 
again.  Impelled  by  absolute  despair  he  sells,  after  a  trial  of 
two  years,  his  little  farm  for  cash ;  and  hoping  that  expe 
rience  has  taught  him  gainful  ways,  he  opens  shop  once 
more.  But  he  is  wrong :  he  must  go  another  road  in 
life,  or  not  go  at  all.  He  has  learnt  no  thrift.  His  vio 
lin,  flute,  books  ;  his  curious  inspection  of  human  nature 
occupy  him  as  before  ;  and  sometimes  he  shuts  up  shop, 
and,  angling  rod  or  gun  in  hand,  wanders  away  to  be 
alone  with  Nature.  We  learn,  however,  without  surprise, 
that  his  reading  begins  to  be  of  a  more  serious  character. 
He  studies  Geography,  and  reads  the  charter  and  history 
of  the  Colony.  He  grows  fond  of  historical  works  gen 
erally  :  "  the  tenacity  of  his  memory  and  the  strength  of 
his  judgment"  —  the  one  not  frittered  away  by  trifling 
things,  the  other  not  fastened  on  such — make  him  per 
fect  master  of  their  contents.  And,  so  employed,  this 
idle  man  fails  again.  In  a  few  years  his  second  trading 
experiment  makes  him  a  bankrupt .  It  has  been  well 
said  :  the  hardest  problem  for  man  is  ever  this  ;  to  make 
the  outward  endeavor  suit  the  inward  capability.  On 
this  problem  Patrick  Henry  is  at  work  and  works  long  : 
at  last  with  results.  Property  entirely  gone,  friends  una 
ble  to  assist  him  further  ;  he  has  tried  that  means,  and 
this,  and  that  again,  and  cannot  get  money :  he  has  got 
only  a  wife  and  children  whom  he  loves.  Poverty,  Debt, 
and  Want  before  him,  Ruin  is  behind  but  shall  not  over 
take  him.  With  acuteness  of  feeling,  the  man  has  much 
native  firmness  and  can  stand  under  heaviest  pressures. 


STJ  B-B  I  O  GR  APH  Y    O  F     P  A  T  R  I  C  K    H  E  N  R  Y  .       91 

He  can  look  cheerfully  into  the  face  of  Night,  believing 
the  Day  will  dawn. 

Mr.  Jefferson  says,  "  his  misfortunes  were  not  to  be 
traced  either  in  his  countenance  or  conduct."  The  man 
has  self-reliance  and  is  indeed  a  Man.  His  friends  can't 
help  him  :  he  must  help  himself  then,  and  will  :  he  de 
termines  to  study  law,  and  live  by  that  if  he  can.  But 
can  he  attain  to  eminence  by  that?  His  "unfortunate 
habits  "  are  not  suited  to  it,  and,  moreover,  the  state  of 
his  affairs  forbids  an  extensive  course  of  law  reading.  So 
this  man,  somewhat  advanced  in  life,  wanting  bread  for 
himself  and  family,  and  as  Wirt  always  says,  "  very  idle," 
commences  "  the  study  of  a  profession,  said  to  require 
the  lucubrations  of  twenty  years."  What  time  does  he 
give  to  it  ?  Not  more  than  six  weeks  :  so  says  Mr.  Wirt's 
text,  though  his  quoted  authorities  differ :  one  says,  nine 
months  ;  others  six  or  eight  months  :  Judge  Tyler  says, 
one  month,  and  adds,  "  this  I  had  from  his  (Mr.  Henry's) 
own  lips."  On  short  preparation,  be  it  one  month  or  nine, 
he  obtains  a  license  to  practice  law.  One  of  his  examin 
ers,  the  courtly  Randolph,  King's  attorney-general  for  the 
Colony,  is  at  first  so  much  shocked  by  Mr.  Henry's  very 
ungainly  figure  and  address,  that  he  refuses  to  examine 
him.  Being  however  induced  to  do  so,  by  learning  that 
he  has  obtained  two  signatures,  he  finds  something  in  this 
unpolished  being  ;  some  knowledge  of  the  "  laws  of  Na 
ture  and  of  Nations,"  of  the  feudal  system,  and  of  gen 
eral  history  ;  though  very  little  of  the  municipal  law. 
Indeed,  this  man  has  no  appetite  for  husks  and  chaff ; 
food  which  distends  the  stomach,  but  gives  neither  ac 
tivity  nor  strength  to  the  body.  Patrick  Henry  then,  (as 
we  follow  him)  is  now  twenty-four  years  old  ;  has  got  a 
license  in  his  pocket,  into  which  he  can  get  little  else  for 


»*  P  EB  B  L  E  BROOK. 

four  long  years,  and  his  family  suffers.  Indeed  the  man 
ought  not  to  have  law  practice,  for  he  is  very  ignorant  of 
written  law,  and  continues  so  to  the  end  :  he  knows 
only  unwritten  law,  or  rather  God- written  on  the  soul 
of  man.  During  two  or  three  of  these  years,  Pat 
rick  Henry  and  his  family  live  with  his  father-in-law  who 
keeps  tavern ;  and  he  assists  to  receive  guests  and  provide 
for  their  wants.  But  now  this  man's  time  has  come  :  he 
must  emerge  from  his  obscurity  and  shew  what  is  in  him. 
For  some  years  there  has  been  a  controversy,  between  the 
clergy  on  the  one  hand,  and  the  legislature  of  the  people 
on  the  other,  touching  the  stipend  claimed  by  the  former. 
The  church  of  England  is  at  this  time  the  established 
Church  of  Virginia,  and  an  Act  of  the  Assembly  passed 
in  1696,  giving  to  each  minister  an  annual  stipend  of 
sixteen  thousand  pounds  of  tobacco,  was  re-enacted  in 
1748.  'Twere  long  to  tell  this  story  of  clergymen  and 
Tobacco  as  Wirt  tells  it.  Enough  to  say  here,  that  the 
price  of  tobacco  had  long  been  fixed  at  two  pence  per 
pound,  and  the  clergy,  instead  of  the  pernicious  weed 
itself,  used  to  take  the  worth  of  sixteen  thousand  pounds 
thereof  in  money.  In  the  year  1755,  in  consequence  of 
a  short  crop,  the  legislature  passed  an  act,  to  enable  the 
people  to  pay  their  tobacco  debts  in  money  for  that  year, 
at  the  rate  of  two  pence  per  pound,  (sixteen  shillings  eight 
pence,  per  one  hundred  pounds.)  This  act,  to  continue 
in  force  ten  months  and  no  longer,  did  not  contain  the 
usual  clause  of  suspension,  until  it  should  receive  the 
royal  assent,  and  applied  to  sheriffs,  clerks,  attorneys,  and 
all  other  tobacco  creditors  as  well  as  to  the  clergy.  The 
latter  regarding  it  as  a  temporary  expedient,  submit  for 
this  once.  In  1758,  however,  in  expectation  of  another 
short  crop,  the  provisions  of  the  act  of  1755,  are  re-enact-. 


StTB-BIOGRAPHY     OF   PATRICK     HENRY.      93 

ed,  and  this  law,  like  the  other,  contains  no  suspending 
clause.  The  crop  does  fall  short,  and  tobacco  rises  from 
sixteen  shillings  and  eight  pence  to  fifty  shillings  per  one 
hundred  pounds.  This  time  the  clergy  kick.  Reverend 
John  Camm  assails  the  act  in  a  sarcastic  and  vigorous 
pamphlet,  entitled  the  "  Two  Penny  Act."  Colonel  Bland 
and  Colonel  Carter  answer  him,  each  in  a  pamphlet,  and 
give  him  as  good  as  he  sends.  He  replies  in  a  yet  severer 
pamphlet,  under  the  title  of  the  "  Colonels  Dismounted," 
and  the  said  Colonels  rejoin.  The  people  look  on  amused, 
with  this  rough-and-tumble  wordy  warfare  ;  but  soon 
get  excited,  as  lookers-on  often  do.  The  popular  current 
runs  against  the  clergy,  though  they  have  the  best  of  the 
argument :  popular  currents  never  running  by  force  of 
argument.  The  King  in  Council,  however,  declares  the 
act  of  1758,  a  usurpation,  and  utterly  null  and  void  : 
thereupon,  the  clergy  bring  suits  in  various  County 
Courts  of  the  Colony,  to  recover  their  stipends  of  tobac 
co.  The  first  experiment  is  made  in  Hanover  County, 
in  a  suit  brought  by  the  Reverend  James  Maury,  against 
the  Collector  of  that  County  and  his  sureties.  Defend 
ants  plead  the  act  of  1758:  Plaintiff  demurs.  Case  is 
argued  in  November,  1763.;  Lyons  for  plaintiff,  Lewis  for 
defendants  ;  and  the  Court  sustains  the  demurrer.  Thus, 
the  act  of  1758,  being  void  on  this  judgment,  that  of 
1748V  remains  in  full  force,  and  is  in  law  the  only 
standard  for  the  jury.  Mr.  Lewis  retires  from  the  cause, 
informing  his  clients,  that  in  effect  it  has  been  decided 
against  them.  Patrick  Henry,  however,  undertakes  (by 
request,)  to  argue  the  case  before  the  jury  at  the  ensuing 
term.  On  the  first  day  of  the  following  December, 
therefore,  he  (having  had  little  time  for  preparation,)  ap 
pears  at  the  court-house,  where  he  finds  a  great  concourse 


94  PEBBLEBROOK. 

of  people  :  not  of  that  County  only ;  men  from  other 
Counties,  far  and  near,  are  there.  This  great  mass,  called 
the  people,  is  in  a  state  of  fermentation,  and  will  not  be 
still  ;  but  must  work  to  throw  out  its  heterogenial  parts. 
The  clergyman  (these  very  parts,)  are  here  in  a  large 
body  to  enjoy  their  final  triumph.  Among  others,  comes 
Reverend  Patrick  Henry  (the  uncle,)  in  his  carriage  : 
the  nephew  walks  up,  expresses  his  regret  at  seeing  him 
here.  I  fear,  1  shall  be  too  much  overawed  by  your 
presence,  to  do  my  duty  to  my  clients :  shall  be  obliged 
to  say  some  hard  things  of  the  clergy,  and  am  unwilling 
to  give  you  pain.  The  old  man  reproves  Patrick  for  en 
gaging  in  this  cause  :  looking  at  him  through  his  specta 
cles,  he  smiles  in  good  humored  contempt  at  the  thought 
of  these  hard  things  ;  but  like  a  good  old  man,  does  as 
his  nephew  would  have  him,  gets  into  his  carriage  again 
and  goes  home.  The  case  stands  on  a  writ  of  enquiry 
for  damages,  no  plea  having  been  entered  by  the  defend 
ants  since  the  judgment  on  the  demurrer.  The  case  is 
called ;  the  array  is  fearful.  The  court-house  is  rilled  : 
the  floor,  every  bench,  every  window,  every  place  on 
which  man  can  stand,  is  crowded.  On  the  bench  are 
more  than  twenty  clergymen,  "the  most  learned  men  in 
the  Colony  ;  "  and  in  the  chair  of  the  presiding  magis 
trate,  sits  Patrick  Henry's  own  f.ither.  Such  is  the  scene 
within  doors  :  without,  the  yard  is  filled  as  with  a  flood 
of  men,  hushed  as  ocean  is  before  the  storm.  A  timid  man, 
standing  in  Patrick  Henry's  place,  had  been  dismayed. 
The  side  he  has  taken  is  held  to  be  a  desperate  one ; 
around  him  are  eager  and  anxious  thousands,  and  before 
him  a  large  body  of  clergy  looking  contemptuous.  He 
is  himself  untried,  for  he  has  not  yet  spoken  in  public  : 
but  he  is  not  dismayed,  for  he  is  indeed  a  Man,  and  has 


SUB-BIOGRAPHY     OF     PATRICK   HENRY.      95 

self-reliance.  The  time  has  come  for  him  to  speak  :  he 
rises  awkward,  hesitating,  slow  ;  and  falters  much  in  his 
exordium.  The  people  hang  their  heads,  the  clergy  look 
slily  at  each  other  and  smile,  the  father  looks  downward 
in  confusion.  Be  of  good  cheer,  ye  anxious  ones !  this 
man  is  not  all  outside  :  he  has  something  in  him.  He 
has  not  been  trained  by  dancing-masters,  posture-masters, 
Professors  of  Rhetoric.  Now,  he  is  only  moving  his 
limbs  and  gathering  himself  together  for  the  combat  : 
soon  he  shall  be  formed  outwardly  to  suit  you,  for  he  is 
informed.  Hark  !  that  sentence  comes  in  a  firmer  tone  ; 
and  that  gesture  has  a  hopeful  character.  The  man  is 
stepping  upon  his  own  ground,  and  is  becoming  miraculous 
ly  transformed  in  appearance  His  attitude  grows  more 
and  more  erect  and  lofty  ;  his  features  begin  to  speak,  and 
his  action  to  tell.  He  has  long  stood  face  to  face  with 
Nature  and  Reality,  and  he  images  his  thoughts  by  familiar 
yet  wonderful  things :  his  peculiar  phrases  are  the  idioms 
of  his  mother  tongue,  and  have  meaning.  The  scene  is 
changed  :  for  a  Man  is  speaking  man-like  to  his  fellow- 
men  :  Deep  is  calling  unto  Deep.  In  that  place  so  full 
of  life,  there  is  silence  as  of  death  ;  save  only  the  voice 
of  one  man :  all  others,  statue-like,  bend  forward  from 
their  stands  with  gleaming  look  ;  and  on  the  father's 
cheek  are  tears  of  ecstasy.  Without,  seen  through  the  open 
windows,  men  stand  on  tiptoe,  almost  breathless,  though 
they  hear  little.  This  so  lately  mocking  clergy,  is  now 
like  a  herd  of  frightened  deer  ;  and  when  he  turns  on 
them,  in  overwhelming  invective,  they  fly  from  his  pres 
ence  terror-stricken.  Patrick  Henry  speaks  one  hour  :  — 
long  enough  for  any  man  to  speak  —  and  the  jury,  forget 
ting  law,  return  a  verdict  of  one  penny  damages.  A  mo 
tion  is  made  for  a  new  trial,  but  the  Court  too,  is  forget- 


96  PEBBLEBROOK. 

ful,  and  overrules  the  motion  by  unanimous  vote.  The 
people  seize  on  their  champion,  and,  spite  of  cries  of 
"  order,"  "  order,"  bear  him  out  of  the  court-house  and 
carry  him  about  the  yard  in  triumph.  There  is  no  writ 
ten  report  of  this  speech  ;  for  which  fact  let  us  be  thank 
ful.  The  reported  fragments  of  such  a  speech  were  only 
the  dry  bones  of  a  once  living  thing ;  forming,  if  well 
arranged,  a  kind  of  skeleton,  ghastly,  devoid  of  life.  Pat 
rick  Henry  is  no  mere  lawyer,  pleading  the  letter  and 
technicalities  of  the  law,  quibbling  about  words,  and 
standing  begirt  with  formulas.  He  is  a  transcendentalist : 
he  goes  over  the  law  and  its  harnessed  draught-horses, 
and  seizes  on  first  principles  which  lie  deep  in  the  hearts 
of  men.  Howsoever  that  may  be,  we  are  glad  to  know 
that  this  man,  so  long  hidden,  has  got  his  head  above 
water,  and  can  keep  it  so.  He  is  retained  in  all  the 
cases  within  the  range  of  his  practice  which  depend  on 
the  same  question.  But  no  other  is  brought  to  trial. 

The  common  people  name  Mr.  Henry  the  c<  Orator  of 
Nature,"  and  "  consider  him  as  bringing  his  credentials 
direct  from  Heaven,  and  as  owing  no  part  of  his  great 
ness  to  human  institutions."  The  people  are  doubtless 
right ;  he  does  bring  his  credentials  from  Heaven,  and  he 
is  needed  here  on  Earth.  Let  us  look  around  and  see  if 
there  be  not  work  for  him.  In  Virginia,  in  these  days, 
society  is  arranged  in  distinctly  marked  classes.  Top 
most  are  the  great  land-holders ;  luxurious,  extravagant, 
they  leave  their  wealth  under  the  law  of  entail.  Next 
stand  the  descendants  of  younger  sons  and  daughters, 
whose  only  inheritance  is  Pride  and  Poverty  ;  ill-sorted 
pair.  Then  come  the  Pretenders,  (so  called)  men,  who 
from  vanity  or  the  impulse  of  growing  wealth,  seek  to 
detach  themselves  from  the  plebeian  ranks,  and  who  imi- 


.      SUB-BIOGRAPHY    OF     PATRICK     HENRY.          97 

tate  at  some  distance  the  manners  and  habits  of  the  first 
class.  Next  to  these  come  the  true  strength  of  every 
land  ;  a  solid  and  independent  body  of  yeomanry  ;  strong, 
did  they  know  their  strength ;  looking  askance  at  the 
lordlings,  and  with  contempt  on  the  Pretenders.  Last 
and  lowest  of  all  are  the  overseers  ;  the  very  lees  of  so 
ciety:  abject,  servile,  unprincipled,  they  feed  the  pride 
and  insolence  of  the  dons.  In  this  body  of  yeomanry 
arises  Patrick  Henry,  and  continues  there.  He  loves  the 
yeomanry,  and  retains  their  manners  and  customs  through 
life.  He  lives  as  they  live,  and  fares  as  they  fare.  No 
voice  of  Fame  shall  call  him  away  from  them :  he  is  a 
Man,  and  will  not  ground  himself  on  coach  leather  and 
prunella ;  he  stands  on  the  basis  of  Nature,  and  there 
will  stand,  shake  him  who  can.  See,  too,  the  political 
state  of  these  colonies.  They  have  grown,  and  will  no 
longer  be  held  in  leading  strings  by  the  mother  country  : 
they  do  not  need  assistance,  and  will  not  be  shackled. 
There  is  a  deep  feeling  that  the  British  government  is 
legislating,  not  for  their  good,  but  for  its  own.  There 
are  threatening  looks,  and  muttering  sounds ;  the  general 
feeling  needs  a  voice,  and  will  find  one. 

Patrick  Henry  now  has  F.ime  ;  but  he  cannot  be  a 
lawyer.  He  has  an  insuperable  aversion  to  law  books ; 
their  reasoning  is  artificial,  cramped,  and  at  variance 
with  his  honest  soul.  ."  Government  he  regards  as  in 
stituted  solely  for  the  good  of  the  People,  and  not  for  the 
benefit  of  those  who  had  contrived  to  make  a  job  of  it." 
A  mere  lawyer,  then,  Patrick  Henry  shall  not  be,  but 
something  better.  Want  still  presses  him  ;  for  fame  is 
not  always  money  ;  and  he  must  remove  (1764)  to  the 
county  of  Louisa,  and  reside  at  "Roundabout."  Here, 
instead  of  studying  law,  he  hunts  deer,  sometimes  for 
9 


98  PEBBLEBROOK. 

days  together,  carrying  food  in  his  pockets,  and  sleeping 
in  the  woods.  Thence,  all  accoutred  as  he  is,  coarse 
coat,  leather  breeches,  leggings,  saddle-bags,  he  appears 
in  court  and  pleads,  astonishing  court  and  jury.  When 
he  speaks  judges  can  write  no  letters,  draw  no  declara 
tions,  but  must  lay  down  the  pen  and  listen  ;  for  he 
speaks  from  his  own  mind,  and  repeats  not  again  the 
thousand-times  repeated.  This  same  year  Mr.  Henry  is 
called  to  a  new  theatre  ;  there  is  a  contested  election  ; 
one  of  the  candidates  is  a  Mr.  Littlepage,  charged  with 
bribery  and  corruption  ;  the  rival  candidate  is  a  Mr. 
Dundridge,  who  employs  Patrick  Henry  to  plead  for  him 
before  the  Committee  of  Privileges  and  Elections,  at  Wil- 
liamsburg.  This  place  is  (in  1764)  the  seat  of  govern 
ment,  the  residence  of  the  Governor,  who  lives  in  some 
what  royal  state.  Here  is  fashion,  and  high-life,  and 
stately  dons  ;  butterfly-citizens,  male  and  female,  in 
gayest  colors,  flutter  about  in  saloons,  and  out  of  doors, 
and  in  streets.  On  this  scene  must  appear  our  man  from 
the  body  of  the  people.  He  comes  without  outward  pre 
paration,  in  his  old  garb,  and  walks  without  admiration 
in  the  midst  of  ephemeral  bipeds,  who  look  down  (or 
seem  to  look  down)  upon  him.  However,  such  as  he  is, 
this  man  is  ushered  with  great  state  and  ceremony  into 
the  room  of  the  Committee.  His  person  is  unknown  to 
almost  all  present,  and  he  is  hardly  treated  with  decent 
respect ;  but  general  contempt  soon  changes  to  general 
admiration.  He  speaks  upon  the  rights  of  suffrage  ; 
and  such  words,  so  uttered,  have  not  been  heard  within 
these  walls  as  yet,  but  often  shall  be  hereafter. 

In  March  of  this  year  (1764)  the  British  parliament 
passes  resolutions  preparatory  to  the  stamp  tax,  and,  in 
January,  1765,  the  famous  stamp  tax  itself,  to  take  effect 


SUB-BIOGRAPHY    OF    PATRICK    HENRY.  99 

in  November  following.  The  people  throughout  the  col 
onies  are  confounded,  stunned,  and  can  only  faintly  hope, 
while  legislatures  humbly  petition  Britain's  king.  Sub 
mission  is  considered  by  the  many  as  unavoidable  for  the 
present ;  and  sagacious  Dr.  Franklin  tells  his  country 
men  "  to  get  children  as  fast  as  they  can."  Others, 
asomewhat  noted  for  intrepidity  and  decision,  hang  back, 
afraid  to  come  forward  and  speak  out :  but  Patrick  Henry 
is  ready,  if  called  to  fitting  place  for  speech.  Mr.  Wil 
liam  Johnson  vacates  his  seat  in  the  house  of  Burgesses 
to  make  room  for  a  stronger  man,  and  Mr.  Henry  is 
elected  to  fill  it  (May,  1705)  ;"  he  is  not  found  wanting, 
though  now  weighed  in  the  balance  with  many.  There 
are  able  men  in  this  Virginia  house  of  Burgesses.  Rich 
John  Robinson  is  speaker,  and  has  been  for  five-and- 
twenty  years ;  courtly,  dignified,  he  is  the  acknowledged 
head  of  the  landed  aristocracy  :  he  has  a  strong  mind, 
much  experience,  and  stands  pretty  well  in  his  place. 
Peyton  Randolph,  King's  attorney-general,  is  next  in 
rank ;  a  solid  man  of  great  weight,  but  rather  dead 
weight ;  he  is  well  acquainted  with  forms.  Logical  Rich 
ard  Bland  is  there,  full  of  facts  ;  a  man  of  "finished  edu 
cation."  Dexterous  Edmund  Pendleton,  with  "  that 
silver  voice,"  appears  under  the  wing  of  the  speaker. 
Small  and  smooth,  he  is  unrivalled  as  parliamentary  man 
ager  ;  no  doubt  a  very  useful  man  for  certain  purposes  ; 
but  he  cannot  "  shake  the  human  soul ;  "  having  proba 
bly  very  little  soul  himself.  Straight-forward  George 
Wythe,  whose  mother  taught  him  the  latin  classics  while 
she  nursed  him,  so  that  unfortunately  he  now  lives  too 
much  in  Greece  and  Rome,  stands  here  no-wise  despica 
ble  ;  strong,  but  destitute  of  art,  buzzing  Pendleton  teases 
him  with  quibbles,  and  vexes  him  with  sophistries ;  he 


100  PEBBLEBROOK. 

hates  crooked  and  indirect  by-ways,  acts  above  board, 
and  is  deserving  of  praise  Richard  Henry  Lee  con 
cludes  Mr.  Wirt's  catalogue  of  great  men,  and  on  him  he 
bestows  much  rhetoric  ;  his  •'  face  on  the  Roman  model," 
his  "  nose  Caesarian  ;  "  well  stored  with  elegant  literature, 
ready,  wordy,  smooth,  sweet,  he  swept  over  the  surface 
of  the  tide  of  Humanity,  but  stirred  not  its  hidden  depths. 
Among  these  men,  and  others  not  much  inferior,  comes 
the  plebeian  Henry,  quietly,  as  is  his  wont,  for  he  is  no 
frothy  braggart,  but  strong  and  assured  of  his  strength. 
These  men  of  the  higher  classes  affect  to  ridicule  his 
somewhat  incorrect  pronunciation,  his  homespun  lan 
guage,  and  his  ignorance  in  their  learning ;  but  soon  his 
words  shall  startle  and  baffle  them,  for  his  homespun  sen 
tences  clothe  homeborn  thoughts. 

Robinson,  the  speaker,  is  also  treasurer  of  the  Colony, 
and  has  loaned  large  sums  of  the  public  money  to  waste 
ful  friends,  in  the  hope  that  they  would  repay,  but  is  dis 
appointed,  and  finds  his  deficit  great.  To  prevent  dis 
covery,  he,  and  his  friends  in  the  Assembly,  propose  a 
public  loan  office,  with  the  intent  to  transfer  to  it  the 
debts  due  to  him,  and  thus  cover  his  deficit.  This  state 
of  things,  and  this  purpose  is,  however,  not  known  except 
by  Robinson's  friends  :  but  Patrick  Henry  attacks  the 
scheme  on  general  grounds,  and  defeats  it.  The  advo 
cates  of  this  scheme  assert  "  that  men  of  substantial  pro 
perty  have  contracted  debts,  which,  if  exacted  suddenly, 
must  ruin  them  and  their  families,  but  if  a  little  indul 
gence  in  time  is  given,  they  can  pay  with  ease."  "  What, 
Sir,"  exclaims  Patrick  Henry,  "  is  it  proposed  then  to  re 
claim  the  spendthrift  from  his  dissipation  and  extrava 
gance  by  filling  his  pockets  with  money  ?  "  All  the 
house  goes  with  Mr.  Henry  except  the  aristocrats.  Next 


SUB-BIOGRAPHY    OF     PATRICK     HENRY.          101 

year  Robinson  dies,  and  his  deficit  is  brought  to  light. 
Near  the  close  of  this  session  Mr.  Henry,  having  waited 
in  vain  for  others  to  move  in  this  business,  brings  for 
ward  his  celebrated  resolutions  on  the  stamp  act,  which 
he  shows  to  only  two  members  before  he  offers  them  to 
the  house.  They  are  calm  and  manly  ;  but  are  opposed 
by  Randolph,  Bland,  Pendfeton,  Wythe,  and  all  the  old 
influential  members.  Mr.  Henry's  ardor,  however,  sup 
ported  by  strong  George  Johnson  of  Fairfax,  prevails ; 
the  last  and  strongest  resolution  is  carried  but  by  a  single 
vote.  In  this  debate,  descanting  on  the  tyranny  of  the 
obnoxious  act,  he  exclaims,  "  Caesar  had  his  Brutus ; 
Charles  the  First  his  Cromwell ;  and  George  the  Third  — 
("  Treason,"  cries  the  speaker,  "  treason,  treason," 
echoes  from  every  part  of  the  house,)  may  profit  by  their 
example:  if  this  be  treason,  make  the  most  of  it."  Mr. 
Henry  continues  a  member  of  the  Colonial  legislature, 
and,  in  1774,  is  one  of  the  deputies  to  the  Continental 
Congress,  which  meets  at  Philadelphia  on  the  fourth  of 
September  of  that  year.  This  meeting  of  men  is  a  solemn 
one ;  and  long  and  deep  is  the  silence  which  follows  its 
organization  as  a  public  body.  The  members  look  anx 
iously  in  each  other's  faces  to  read  what  may  be  in  the 
heart ;  and  prudent  men  will  not  begin  a  debate  which 
may  have  fearful  consequences.  But  in  this  hour  of  trial 
Patrick  Henry  falters  not :  he  is  not  a  prudent  man  ;  he 
is  self-forgetful.  Rising  in  the  midst  of  this  deep,  death 
like,  embarrassing  silence,  he  as  usual  hesitates  in  his  ex 
ordium,  for  the  man  has  no  flowers  of  speech  conned 
over  in  his  leisure  hours,  and  made  to  suit  every  occa 
sion  ;  he  is  full  of  his  subject,  not  full  of  words ;  and  by 
and  by  he  shall  unfold  himself.  He  does  unfold  himself, 
9* 


102  PEBBLEBROOK. 

and  says  —  no  one  now  knows  what  :  we  can  only  learn 
that  "  his  speech  seemed  more  than  that  of  mortal  man." 
In  this  Congress,  Mr.  Henry  (one  of  a  Committee)  draws 
up  a  petition  to  the  King,  which  (as  we  can  well  believe,) 
does  not  suit,  and  is  re-committed  for  amendment.  Mr. 
John  Dickinson  is  added  to  this  Committee,  and  a  new 
draught,  made  by  him,  is  adgpted.  —  Mr.  Henry  is  also 
member  of  a  Convention  of  delegates,  who  meet  at  Rich 
mond,  20th  March,  1775.  After  thanking  the  "  worthy 
delegates,"  who  had  represented  this  Colony  in  General 
Congress,  this  Convention  listens  to  the  reading  of  a  pe 
tition  and  memorial  from  the  Assembly  of  Jamaica  to 
the  King's  most  excellent  Majesty  :  whereupon  a  resolu 
tion  passed,  containing,  "  unfeigned  thanks,"  "  grateful 
acknowledgements,"  to  said  Assembly,  and  assurances, 
that  the  return  of  "  Halcyon  days,"  is  the  "  most  ardent 
wish  of  this  Colony,"  and  indeed,  of  the  whole  continent 
of  North  America.  This  namby-pamby,  complimentary 
business  does  not  please  Mr.  Henry,  and  he  moves  reso 
lutions  in  quite  another  tone  :  the  substance  of  which  is  : 
that  this  Colony  be  immediately  put  in  a  state  of  defence ; 
in  a  state  to  take  care  of  itself.  These  resolutions  shock 
the  timid,  and  are  opposed  as  "  rash  in  policy,  and  harsh 
in  feeling."  Bland,  Harrison,  Pendleton,  Nicholas,  resist 
them  with  all  their  ability  :  We  shall  disgust  our  friends, 
we  are  not  in  a  situation  to  fight :  Where  are  our  stores? 
Where  our  arms  ?  Where  our  soldiers  ?  Nowhere  : 
we  are  defenceless,  naked ;  and  our  opponent  a  nation 
armed  at  all  points,  one  of  the  most  formidable  in  the 
world,  and  so  forth  :  all  very  true  for  men  of  logic  who 
have  no  insight  ;  not  true  to  Patrick  Henry,  who  has  an 
eye  to  see,  and  a  soul  to  dare.  He  replies ;  and  let  his 


SUB-BIOGRAPHY    OF     PATRICK    HENRY.    103 

speech  be  placed   here,  for  it  seems  more  characteristic 
of  the  speaker,  than  any  other  given  by  VVirt. 

"  This  is  no  time  for  ceremony  :  the  question  before  the  house 
is  one  of  awtul  moment  to  this  country  :  for  my  part,  I  consider  it 
as  nothing  less  than  a  question  of  Freedom  or  Slavery  :  and  in  pro 
portion  to  the  greatness  of  the  subject,  ought  to  be  the  freedom  of 
debate.  It  is  in  this  way  only,  that  we  can  hope  to  arrive  at  truth, 
and  fulfil  the  great  responsibility  we  owe  to  God  and  our  country. 
Should  I  keep  back  my  opinions  at  such  a  time  as  this,  through  fear 
of  giving  offence,  1  should  consider  myself  guilty  of  treason  to  my 
country,  and  of  disloyalty  toward  the  Majesty  of  Heaven,  which  I 
revere  above  all  earthly  Kings.  Mr.  President,  it  is  natural  to  man 
to  indulge  in  the  illusions  of  Hope:  we  are  apt  to  shut  our  eyes 
against  a  painful  truth,  and  listen  to  (he  song  of  that  Syren,  till  she 
transform  us  into  beasts.  Is  tins  the  part  of  wise  men,  engaged  in 
a  great  and  arduous  struggle  for  liberty?  Are  we  disposed  to  be 
of  the  numberof  those  who,  having  eyes,  see  not,  and,  having  ears, 
hear  not  the  things  which  so  nearly  concern  their  temporal  salva 
tion  ?  For  my  part,  whatever  anguish  of  spirit  it  may  cost,  I  am 
willing  to  know  the  whole  truth  ;  to  know  the  worst  and  to  provide 
for  it.  1  have  but  one  lamp  to  guide  my  feet,  and  that  is  the  lamp  ot 
experience.  I  know  of  no  wny  of  judging  of  the  future,  but  by  the 
past.  Judging  by  the  past  then,  I  wi^h  to  know,  what  there  has 
been  in  the  conduct  of  the  Hritish  ministiy  for  the  last  ten  years, 
to  justify  those  hopes  with  which  gentlemen  have  been  pleased  to 
solace  themselves  and  thu  house  ?  is  it  that  insidious  smile,  with 
which  our  petition  has  been  lately  received  ?  Trust  not  to  that;  it 
will  prove  a  snare  to  your  feet :  suffer  not  yourselves  to  be  betrayed 
with  a  kiss.  Ask  yourselves,  how  this  gracious  reception  of  our 
petition  comports  with  those  warlike  preparations  which  cover  our 
waters,  and  darken  our  land.  Are  fleets  and  armies  necessary  to 
a  work  of  peace  and  reconciliation  ?  Have  we  shown  ourselves  so 
unwilling  to  be  reconciled,  that  force  must  be  called  in,  to  win  back 
our  love  ?  Let  us  not  deceive  ourselves,  sir;  these  are  the  imple 
ments  of  War  and  subjugation  ,  the  last  arguments  to  which  Kings 
resort.  I  ask,  gentlemen,  what  means  this  martial  array, if  its  pur 
pose  be  not  to  force  us  to  submission  ?  Can  gentlemen  assign  any 
other  possible  motive  for  it  ?  Has  Great  Britain  any  enemy  in  this 
quarter  of  the  world,  to  call  for  all  this  accumulation  of  navies  and 


104  PEBBLEBROOK. 

armies  ?  No  Sir,  she  has  none  ;  they  are  meant  for  us  ;  they  can 
be  meant  for  no  other.  They  are  .sent  over  to  bind  and  rivet  upon 
us,  those  chains  which  the  British  Ministry  have  been  so  long  forg 
ing.  And  what  have  we  to  oppose  to  them  ?  Shall  we  try  argu 
ment  ?  Sir,  we  have  been  trying  (hat  for  the  last  ten  years.  Have 
we  anything  new  to  offer  upon  the  subject?  Nothing.  We  have 
held  up  the  subject  in  every  light  of  which  it  is  capable  ;  but  all  in 
vain.  Shall  we  resort  to  entreaiy  and  humble  supplication?  What 
terms  shall  we  find,  that  have  not  been  already  exhausted?  Let  us 
not,  I  beseech  you,  Sir,  deceive  ourselves  longer.  Sir,  we  have 
done  every  thing  that  can  be  done,  to  avert  the  storm  which  is  now 
coming  on.  We  have  petitioned  ;  we  have  remonstrated  ;  we  have 
supplicated  ;  we  have  prostrated  ourselves  before  the  throne  ;  and 
have  implored  its  interposition,  to  arrest  the  tyrannical  hands  of  the 
Ministry  and  Parliament ;  our  petitions  have  been  slighted  ;  our 
remonstrances  have  produced  additional  violence  and  insult  ;  our 
supplications  have  been  disregarded,  and  we  have  been  spurned 
with  contempt  from  the  foot  of  the  throne.  In  vain,  after  these 
things,  may  we  indulge  the  fond  hope  of  peace  and  reconciliation. 
There  is  no  longer  any  room  for  hopa.  If  we  wish  to  be  free —  if 
we  mean  to  preserve  inviolate  those  inestimable  privileges  for 
which  we  have  been  so  long  contending —  if  we  mean  not  basely 
to  abandon  the  noble  struggle  in  which  we  have  been  so  long  en 
gaged,  and  which  we  have  pledged  ourselves  never  to  abandon, 
until  the  g'orio  is  object  of  our  contest  shall  be  obtained  —  We  must 
fight!  I  repeat  it,  Si;,  we  must  fight!  An  appeal  to  arms  and  the 
God  of  Hosts,  is  all  that  is  left  us  !  —  They  tell  us,  Sir,  that  we  are 
weak  ;  unable  to  cope  with  so  formidable  an  adversary  ;  but  when 
shall  we  be  stronger?  Will  it  be  the  next  week,  or  the  next  year? 
Will  it  be  when  we  are  totally  disarmed,  and  when  a  British  guard 
shall  be  stationed  in  every  house  ?  Shall  we  gather  strength  by 
irresolution  and  inaction  ?  Shall  we  acquire  the  means  of  effectual 
resistance,  by  lying  supinely  on  our  backs  aod  hugging  the  delu 
sive  phantoms  of  hope,  until  our  enemies  have  bound  us  hand  and 
foot  ?  Sir,  we  are  no:  weak,  if  we  make  a  proper  use  of  those 
means  which  the  God  of  Nature  hath  placed  in  our  power.  Three 
millions  of  people  armed  in  the  holy  cause  of  liberty,  and  in  such 
a  country  as  this,  are  invincible  by  any  force  which  our  enemy  can 
send  against  us  ;  besides,  Sir,  we  shall  not  fight  our  battles  alone. 
There  is  a  just  God  who  presides  over  the  destinies  of  Nations,  and 


SU  B- B  I  O  G  R  AP  H  Y    OF      PATRICK     HENRY.    105 

who  will  raise  up  friends  to  fight  our  battles  for  us.  The  battle,  Sir, 
is  not  to  the  strong  alone  ;  it  is  to  the  vigilant,  the  active,  the  brave. 
Besides  Sir,  we  have  no  election  ;  were  we  base  enough  to  desire 
it,  it  is  now  to  late  to  retire  from  the  contest.  There  is  no  retreat 
but  in  submission  or  slavery  !  Our  chains  are  forged  ;  their  clank 
ing  may  be  heard  on  the  plains  of  Koston  !  The  War  is  inevitable, 
and  let  it  come  !  I  repeat  it.  Sir,  let  it  come  !  It  is  in  vain  to  ex 
tenuate  the  matter;  Gentlemen  may  cry  peace,  peace  j  but  there 
is  no  peace;  the  War  is  actually  begun!  The  next  gale  that 
sweep*  from  the  North,  wil!  bring  to  our  ears  the  clash  of  resound 
ing  arms  ;  our  brethren  are  already  in  the  field  !  Why  stand  we 
here  idle  ?  What  is  it  gentlemen  wish  ?  What  would  they  have  ? 
Is  life  so  dear  or  peace  so  sweet,  as  to  be  purchased  at  the  price  of 
chains  or  slavery?  Forbid  it,  Almighty  God!  I  know  not  what 
course  others  may  take,  but  as  for  me,  give  me  Liberty  or  give  me 
Death  !  " 

Richard  Henry  Lee  now  rises,  and  supports  Mr.  Henry 
with  his  usual  spirit  and  elegance,  and  the  resolutions  are 
adopted  :  a  Committee  is  appointed  to  arm  the  Colony. 
This  thing,  called  the  American  Revolution,  is  now  fairly 
under  way  in  Virginia  and  Massachusetts,  and  cannot 
stop.  To  Patrick  Henry,  belongs  the  praise  of  having 
seen  it  from  the  beginning  :  he  sees  it  as  it  is,  and  is  fear 
less  This  wide  ocean  called  the  People,  is  heaving  in 
ground-swells,  and  in  deep  under-tones  speaks  of  the 
coining  storm.  Men  gather  here  and  there  under  cover 
of  Night :  Silence  and  Darkness  are,  as  of  old.  the  first 
born  of  Creation.  Soon  from  this  dark  cloud  of  Deliber 
ation  shall  burst  the  thunder-peal  and  lightning  fl.ish  of  ac 
tion,  and  this  thing  shall  be  scathed,  and  that,  and  the  strife 
shall  be  fearful.  —  About  this  time  here,  in  Virginia,  is 
seizing  of  powder  by  the  Governor,  (Lord  Dunrnore,)  and 
from  the  North  come  tidings  of  battle,  bloodshed,  and 
death:  the  fountains  of  the  great  Deep  are  breaking  up.  — 
This  idle  man,  Patrick  Henry,  is  not  idle  now,  but  thinks 


106  PEBBLE  BROOK. 

it  time  to  strike,  and  let  worst  come  to  worst.  He  sends 
express  riders  to  the  members  of  the  independent  com 
pany  of  Hanover,  (who  had  met  and  dispersed  again, 
before  he  knew  of  the  seizing  of  powder,)  requesting 
them  to  meet  him  in  arms,  at  Newcastle,  on  the  2nd  of 
May  :  he  also  convokes  the  County  Committee.  He  ad 
dresses  this  Independent  Military  Company,  and  fires  the 
souls  of  men  :  they  resolve  that  the  powder  shall  be  re 
turned,  or  counterbalanced  by  a  reprisal  The  Captain 
of  this  Company,  (Samuel  Meridith,)  resigns  his  commis 
sion  and  accepts  that  of  lieutenant :  Mr.  Henry  is  made 
Commander,  and  marches  his  troops  toward  Williams- 
burg.  Companies  of  men  start  up  on  all  sides  and  place 
themselves  under  his  banner  :  five  thousand  men,  it  is 
computed,  are  in  arms,  crowding  to  his  standard.  Lady 
Dunmore  and  family  fly  on  board  the  Fowey  Man-of-War, 
off  the  town  of  Little  York.  Timid  patriots  in  Williams 
burg  send  messengers  to  Mr.  Henry,  request  him  to  de 
sist  from  his  purpose  and  discharge  his  men  ;  but  in  vain  ; 
he  will  on.  The  Governor  issues  proclamation,  denouric- 
ing  the  movement ;  fills  the  palace  with  arms  and  marines 
from  the  Man-of-War,  and  thinks  he  will  fight :  he  thinks 
twice  however,  and  sends  the  Receiver-General's  bill  of 
exchange  for  <£3;JO,  value  of  the  powder,  to  Mr.  Henry  at 
Doncastle,  who  gives  receipt  for  the  same  ;  writes  to  the 
Treasurer  of  the  Colony,  offering  to  escort  the  public 
treasure  from  WiHiamsburg  to  a  place  of  safety,  and  gets 
answer,  that  it  is  considered  safe  where  it  is  :  then,  (there 
being  at  this  time  no  further  work  to  do,)  he  marches 
homeward  and  the  volunteers  disperse.  Thereupon,  Lord 
Dunmore  thunders  forth  (without  lightning,)  a  proclama 
tion  against  a  certain  Patrick  Henry,  and  his  deluded 
followers.  Mr.  Henry  now  sets  off  on  his  journey  to 


SUB-BIOGRAPHY    OF    PATRICK    HENRY.       107 

Congress,  and  is  escorted  by  a  large  party  as  far  as  Hooe's 
Ferry  on  the  Potomac.  He  is  met  on  his  way  by  messen 
gers  from  all  quarters,  bearing  votes  of  thanks  from  as 
semblies  of  his  countrymen,  and  must  halt,  read  and  reply  ; 
so  that  a  day's  journey  is  prolonged  to  a  triumph  of  many. 
This  man  then,  who  was  first  to  speak,  has  also  shewn 
himself  first  to  act.  At  this  session  of  Congress,  Mr. 
Henry  is  quiet  and  says  nothing.  He  is  no  babbler  who 
cannot  hold  his  tongue  :  he  has  set  others  to  work  and 
will  himself  be  idle,  till  there  is  fitting  work  for  him 
to  do. 

About  this  time,  comes  Lord  North's  Olive  Branch 
across  the  waters,  borne  by  no  Dove  ;  and  the  Governor 
of  Virginia  calls  a  meeting  of  the  House  of  Delegates, 
and  his  lady  returns  from  the  Fovvey  Man-of-War  to  the 
palace,  as  though  this  quarrel  were  now  ended.  This 
foolish  Lord  Dunmore,  who  is  valiant  only  when  the  bat 
tle  is  over,  is  now  scheming  for  revenge.  He  sets  spring- 
guns  in  the  magazine,  loaded  eight  fingers  deep  with  swan 
shot,  and  two  persons  who  go  thither  to  get  arms  for 
themselves  are  severely  wounded.  Foolish  Lord :  does 
he  not  know,  that  such  tricks  will  fire  the  train  again  and 
blow  him  off,  if  not  up.  Early  next  morning,  (sixth  of 
January,  1775,)  he,  conscience-stricken,  must  fly  with 
his  family  from  the  palace  to  return  to  it  no  more.  He 
goes  on  board  the  Fowey.  Messingers  are  sent  to  and 
fro  between  the  Governor  and  Legislature,  each  inviting 
the  other  to  draw  near  ;  without  effect  :  for  in  these  times 
even  the  government  is  divided,  one  part  being  for  the 
People,  and  the  other  for  the  King;  and  the  two  parts 
cannot  come  together  except  in  strife.  This  Legislature, 
therefore,  being  but  half  a  government,  adjourns ;  and 
Delegates  are  summoned  to  meet  at  Richmond,  on  the 

o 

17th  of  July.     This  Colonial  Convention  does  meet  there 


108  PEBBLEBROOK. 

on  the  24th  of  this  month  (1775,)  and  acts  with  decision 
and  vigor  :  dividing  the  Colony  into  sixteen  military  dis 
tricts  ;  each  to  raise  a  regiment  of  militia.  Two  regi 
ments  of  Regulars  are  also  to  be  raised  and  paid  by  the 
Colony.  Committee  of  S  ifety  is  appointed,  having  func 
tions  and  powers  analogous  to  those  of  the  Governor, 
and  designed  to  fill  his  place.  This  Convention  elects 
Mr.  Henry  "  Colonel  of  the  first  regiment  of  regulars, 
and  Commander-in-chief  of  all  forces  raised,  or  to  be 
raised,  for  the  defence  of  the  Colony."  He,  accordingly, 
is  at  his  post,  the  City  of  Williamsburg,  on  the  20th  of 
September,  and  takes  command  as  recruits  come  in. 
There  is  at  this  time,  neither  war  nor  peace,  but  only  a 
hovering  between  the  two:  soon,  however,  Lord  Dunmore, 
with  a  motley  band  of  tories  and  negroes,  begins  "  cut 
ting  such  fantastic  capers,"  in  the  country  about  Norfolk, 
that  he  must  be  looked  to.  The  Committee  of  Safety, 
(which  is  the  authorised  director  of  all  military  move 
ments,)  detaches  for  this  purpose  eight  hundred  men. 
Colonel  Henry  is  desirous  of  the  command  of  this  expe 
dition,  and  solicits  it  :  this  Committee  of  Safety  will  not 
have  it  so,  but  gives  it  to  Colonel  Woodward,  who  soon 
refuses  to  acknowledge  Colonel  Henry's  superiority  in  com 
mand,  and  is  sustained  by  this  Committee.  Indeed,  this 
Committee  (a  most  inefficient  military  head,)  is  (as  we 
read  the  matter  in  many  pages.)  somewhat  jeilous  of 
Colonel  Henry,  and  desirous  to  thwart  him  and  lessen  his 
influence  with  the  people.  No  opportunity  is  given  him 
to  test  his  military  ab  lity  :  other  men  are  placed  over 
him,  and  he  resigns  his  commission.  The  soldiers  of  his 
regiment  become  mutinous,  and  refuse  to  serve  under 
any  other  commander.  He  spends  a  night  in  visiting 
the  several  barracks  ;  reasons  with  them,  and  finally  per- 


SUB-BIOGRAPHY     OF   PATRICK   HENRY.     109 

suades  them  to  serve  their  country  under  other  commanders, 
since  they  may  not  under  him.  Ninety  officers,  including 
many  in  Colonel  Woodward's  camp,  address  Mr.  Henry 
through  the  public  papers  ;  express  their  resentment  at 
the  indignity  offered  him,  and  their  confidence  in  his  abil 
ity  and  rectitude.  The  hand  of  the  managing  Pendleton, 
(one  of  the  Committee  of  Safety,)  is  busy  in  this  some 
what  shameful  affair.  Immediately  on  his  resignation  of 
military  command,  Patrick  Henry  is  elected  a  member  of 
the  State  Convention  from  the  County  of  Hanover.  This 
Convention  has  work  to  do ;  a  regular  government  to 
form  ;  and  it  is  done.  Patrick  Henry  is  now  (July  1776,) 
elected  Governor  of  Virginia,  and,  by  desire  of  the  Con 
vention,  dwells  in  Dunmore's  palace.  The  history  of  the 
next  three  years,  is  in  Wirt's  book,  made  up  of  public 
documents,  not  noteworthy  as  characteristic  of  Patrick 
Henry.  Factious  busy-bodies  at  one  time,  (1776,)  ac 
cuse  him  (covertly,)  of  wishing  to  make  himself  Dictator 
of  the  State.  Wirt  finds  no  grounds  for  this  accusation  ; 
nor  did  the  legislature,  which  unanimously  elects  him 
Governor  again  for  the  ensuing  year.  In  1777,  occurs 
that  disgraceful  plot  to  remove  Washington  and  place 
Gates,  the  fortunate  captor  of  Burgoyne,  in  his  place. 
The  Intriguers  try  Patrick  Henry,  who  promptly  trans 
mits  to  Washington  an  anonymous  letter,  which  had  come 
addressed  to  himself,  and  will  have  no  hand  in  this  bus 
iness,  believing  Washington  to  be  the  man  for  the  place 
he  stands  in.  Mr.  Henry  is  now  (1777,)  a  widower,  (his 
wife  died  in  1775,)  the  father  of  six  children,  and  thinks 
he  must  marry  again.  He  takes  Dorothea,  daughter  of 
Nathaniel  W.  Dundridge.  In  1779,  he  declines  being 
again  a  candidate  for  the  gubernatorial  office,  believing, 
that  by  the  Constitution,  he  is  ineligible  ;  and  removes  to 
10 


110  PEBBLEBROOK. 

his  newly  purchased  estate  called  Leatherwood,  in  the 
new  county  of  Henry ;  near  to  which  starts  up,  afterward, 
another  county  named  Patrick.  Here  he  attends  to  the 
business  of  his  profession,  and  is  (in  1780)  again  a  mem 
ber  of  the  State  Assembly. 

The  spring  and  summer  of  the  next  year  is,  perhaps, 
the  darkest  period  of  the  Revolutionary  War.     The  Trai 
tor  Arnold  in  January,  is  busy  here  in  Virginia,  and  next 
month  comes  the  victorious  Cornwallis  sweeping   along 
from  the  south,   and  roaming  whither    he   will.     Lafay 
ette,  with  his  small  body  of  Republicans  flies  before  him, 
unable  to  make  effectual  stand.     Tarlton,  with   his  swift 
cavalry,  dashes  this  way,  and  that,  and  pounces  upon  the 
Assembly  at   Richmond,  making  however   only  seven  of 
the  members  prisoners;  the  others  flying  to  Stanton.     In 
this  period  of  darkness,  the  project  of  a  Dictator  is  start 
ed,  and  the  people  look  to  Patrick  Henry  as  the  man  for 
that.     But  there  is  no  need:   a  brighter  day  is  dawning,  a 
day  long   ago  predicted    by  Mr.  Henry ;  and  across    the 
Ocean  comes    aid   from    France.     Soon    the    contest   is 
closed  by  the  capture  of  Cornwallis  at  Little  York,  Octo 
ber    19,    1781.     Peace   comes;    the  long    desired;    but 
brings  not  every  blessing  in  its  arms  :  the  Country  is  poor, 
in  debt,  disordered,  out  of  joint.      Mr.  Henry  still  repre 
sents  the  county  of  his  residence  in  the  State  legislature, 
and  has  power  there  which  it  is  difficult  to  resist :  power 
which  he  does  not  always  throw  into  the  popular  scale. 
He  is  no  demagogue,   and    can   go   against  the  popular 
current  when  that  goes  wrong.     Now,  immediately  upon 
the  close  of  the  War;  he   advocates  the  return  of  the 
British  Refugees.     There   is   violent   opposition  :  deep- 
rooted  prejudices  exist ;  of  all  names  that  of  British  Tory 
is  the    most  opprobrious.    But  these  people,  Mr.  Henry 


SUB-BIOGRAPHY    OF    PATKICK   HE-NBY.    Ill 

thinks,  have  been  deluded  and  punished  enough  therefor  : 
in  this  country,  where  we  have  land  enough  and  to  spare, 
we  want  men,  and  have  nothing  to  fear  from  these  Refu 
gees  now.  "Afraid  of  them, "  he  says,  "  what,  Sir,  shall 
we,  who  have  laid  the  proud  British  Lion  at  our  feet,  now 
be  afraid  of  his  whelps  1 "  —  He  also  advocates  the  mea 
sure  of  removing  restraints  on  British  commerce  before 
any  treaty  is  concluded.  The  voice,  which  first  launched 
the  War-Cry,  is  now  (the  War  ended)  most  earnest  for 
thorough  Peace.  Patrick  Henry  is  no  half-way  man, 
ever-halting  between  two  opinions :  In  the  fall  session  of 
1784,  too,  his  course  is  noteworthy.  These  half-naked 
Indians  hang  frowning,  cloud-like  on  our  frontier ;  and 
dark  father  tells  to  son  the  story  of  their  wrongs :  the 
electrical  chain  of  human  feeling  is  highly  charged : 
often  the  lightning  flashes  upon  us  at  dead  of  night,  in 
fearful  death -strokes.  Here,  too,  something  must  be 
done  ;  and  Patrick  Henry  proposes  to  encourage  inter 
marriages  between  copper  color  and  white,  and  thus  give 
to  this  dark  cloud  a  lighter  cast.  Metaphor  apart,  he 
prepares,  and  earnestly  advocates,  a  bill  to  give  pecuniary 
bounties  to  the  parties  to  such  marriages  ;  to  be  repeated 
at  the  birth  of  each  child  the  offspring  of  such  union : 
exemption  from  taxes  also,  and  the  free  use  of  a  semina 
ry  of  learning.  Said  we  not  well ;  this  man  is  no  half 
way  man  ?  This  bill  is  read  twice,  and  engrossed  for  its 
final  passage :  but  Patrick  Henry  is  elected  Governor 
again  and  thus  displaced  from  the  floor ;  three  days  after 
the  bill  is  rejected.  In  regard  to  religious  creeds,  he  (in 
this  Assembly  and  elsewhere)  is  disposed  to  place  all 
sects  on  equal  ground,  and  leave  men  free  to  choose  their 
own  creed.  In  the  fall  of  1786,  a  year  still  remaining  of 
his  gubernatorial  term,  Mr.  Henry  feels  himself  obliged  to 


112  .  FEBBLEBKOOK. 

decline  a  re-election.  His  style  of  living  is  unostenta 
tious,  temperate,  every  way  simple  :  yet  his  salary  of 
.£1000  will  not  cover  his  expenses.  He  is  in  debt  and 
thinks  he  must  sell  part  of  his  estate.  In  December  of 
this  same  year,  he  is  appointed  by  the  legislature  one  of 
the  seven  deputies  to  a  General  Convention  to  be  holden 
at  Philadelphia  to  revise  the  Federal  Constitution  ;  which 
appointment  he  must  decline  and  work  to  pay  his  money 
debts.  He  retires  then  to  Prince  Edward's  County,  and 
casts  about  for  the  means  of  freeing  himself;  at  last  he 
takes  the  advice  of  a  neighbor  given  in  this  efficient  way  : 
"  Go  back  to  the  bar  ;  your  tongue  will  soon  pay  your 
debts  :  if  you  will  promise  to  go,  I  will  give  you  a  retain 
ing  fee  on  the  spot."  So  this  man,  now  fifty  years  old,  who 
would  gladly  rest  (being  idle,)  must  go  to  work  ;  in  that 
old  business  of  law  too,  which  he  hates  :  but  he  will  not 
attend  to  its  technicalities,  to  its  quibbles,  and  pribble- 
prabbles;  other  counsel  must  be  employed  for  that  work; 
men  not  idle,  who  have  long  been  busy  learning  things 
which  no  man  should  learn.  Hence  he  has  only  impor 
tant  cases  to  plead,  but  enough  of  such  in  courts  far  and 
near.  The  Federal  Constitution,  just  hatched  by  the 
Convention  at  Philadelphia,  flies  abroad  on  all  the  four 
winds  :  and  men  everywhere  are  busy  attacking  it,  defend 
ing  it.  Every  gathering  of  People,  in  Court-house  or 
Church,  for  military  parade  or  barbacue,  must  discuss 
this  thing.  Itinerant  political  preachers  go  from  County 
to  County  ;  from  State  to  State ;  and  challenge  all  men 
to  argument  for  or  against.  The  newspapers  are  full  of 
it,  and  the  Pulpit,  and  on  all  hands  is  loud  din  of  words. 
In  these  clacking  times  Patrick  Henry  is  needed  again 
in  the  political  field,  and  is  made  rnember  of  a  convention 
which  is  to  decide  the  fate  of  this  Federal  Constitution 


SUB-BIOGRAPHY    OF    PATRICK    HENRY.     113 

here  in  Virginia.  The  Convention  meets  at  Richmond 
(June  2,  1788,)  and  holds  able  men  :  Madison  and  Mun- 
roe  (afterwards  Presidents,)  Marshall  ,( after  wards  Chief 
Justice,)  and  others  at  this  time  held  to  be  fully  their  equals. 

Mr.  Henry  does  not  like  this  Federal  Constitution  :  it  is 

J 

not  a  confederation  of  different  States,  but  a  consolida 
tion  :  it  is  not  a  grouping-together  of  Independent  States 
for  general  specific  purposes  ;  it  is  a  welding-together  of 
States  into  one  too  solid  mass.  Such  is  his  main  objec 
tion,  and  the  details  are  only  a  spreading-out  of  this : 
quite  necessary  such  spreading-out  there  and  then  ;  quite 
useless  here  and  now  ;  which  therefore  we  omit.  In  this 
Virginia  Convention,  however,  the  greater  part  are 
against  Mr.  Henry,  and  his  objections  (right  or  wrong) 
are  overruled.  The  question  of  ratification  is  carried  by 
a  majority  of  ten,  and  the  proposed  amendments  of  the 
minority  are  forwarded  to  Congress  with  the  ratification. 
In  the  very  next  session  of  the  State  Assembly,  however, 
resolutions,  offered  and  advocated  by  Mr.  Henry,  request 
ing  the  Congress  of  the  United  States  to  call  a  Conven 
tion  to  amend  this  Federal  Constitution,  are  carried  by  a 
majority  of  more  than  two  to  one.  This  Federal  Consti 
tution  is  in  Virginia,  and  elsewhere,  accepted  not  be 
cause'  it  is  as  good  as  it  should  be,  but  rather  because  it  is 
better  than  none ;  and  something  of  this  kind  we  must  have. 
Patrick  Henry  continues  in  this  State  Assembly  till  1791, 
and  then  declines  a  re-election.  The  law  business  still 
holds  good,  and  he  is  counsel  for  defendants  in  the  case  of 
the  British  debts.  When  he  argues  this  case  in  1791,  and 
again  in  1793,  people  from  all  parts  gather  to  hear  him  ; 
members  of  the  Assembly  desert  their  seats,  leave  the  speak 
er  without  a  quorum  and  throng  the  Court-house.  The  re 
port  of  this  case,  and  the  speeches  may  be  read  in  some  fifty 
10* 


114  PEBBLEBROOK. 

pages  of  Wirt's  book  by  those  who  will ;  not  again  by  me 
except  from  a  sense  of  duty.  —  This   idle  man  will  now 
work  no  more ;    at  any  rate  not  in  this  law  business.     He 
is  (1794)  fifty-eight  years  old;  is  free  from  debt,  and  has 
money  enough.     In   summer    evenings   he  may  be  seen 
sitting  under    a   large  Walnut  tree   before  his  own  door, 
surrounded  by  his  family  and  neighbors.  Here  he  talks  to 
willing  listeners,  and  listens  to  willing  talkers  ;  and  is,  we 
may  believe  quite  happy.    In  1796,  he  is  elected  Governor 
once  more  :  but  declines  the  office  :  he  will  not  come  in 
to  public  life  again  :  he  chooses  rather  to  sit  there  under 
the   old  Walnut  Tree.     Political   parties,   however,    still 
consider  him  a  prize  worth  contending  for  :  the   first   ad 
ministration   offers   him   the   Embassy  to  Spain,  and   the 
second  that   to  France ;  but  he   says,  no  :  he  will  stay  at 
home  ;  where  visitors   sometimes  find  him   lying  on  the 
floor,  his  children  tumbling  over  him,  or  dancing  around 
him  to  the  music  of  his  violin,  full  of  glee  :  a  noisy  party, 
frolicksome    and    happy.     About   this  time  Rumor  says 
that  he  has  changed  sides  in  politics  and  is  now  a  Fed 
eralist  :  busy-bodies  catch  up  his  words  and  report  them 
abroad.     He,  however,  denies  that  he  has  changed  sides. 
The  truth  seems  to  be  that  this  man  does  not  bind  him 
self  to    an  expressed  opinion    as  to  an  immutable  thing 
from  which  he  can  never  free  himself.  He  is  a  Free  man ; 
and  therefore  not  what  is  called  a  consistent  man,  bound 
down  to    a   well  beaten  track  :  he  is  a  Free  man ;  free 
from  passion  and  prejudice,  and  approves  or  condemns  ac 
cording  to  his  honest  conviction.     He  is  a  bold  man,  too, 
and  speaks  out :  therefore  he  shall  be  wronged,  as  in  this 
World  all  such  men  are  for   a  time.       The  light  of  this 
man's  Life  is  now  waning ;  but  shall  flash  out  briefly  once 
again,  and   then   his  Night  of  Death  shall  come.     The 
clash  of  contending  parties  reaches  him  in  his  peaceful 


SUB-BIOGRAPHY     OF     PATRICK   HENRY.    115 

dwelling:  the  fierce  contest  of  Democrat  and  Federalist 
startles  him  from  repose,  and  he  will  rise  and  rebuke  those 
who  would  (as  he  believes)  overturn  this  now  established 
government.  For  this  purpose  he  offers  himself  as  a  candi 
date  for  the  House  of  Delegates,  and,  as  is  the  fashion  here 
in  Virginia,  he  addresses  the  Electors  at  the  polls  ;  and  can 
still  speak  manlike.  "  Where,  "  he  asks,  "  is  the  Citizen 
of  America  who  dares  lift  his  hand  against  the  '  Father  of 
his  Country  1 '  "  A  drunken  man  in  the  crowd  throws 
up  his  hand  and  says,  "  I  dare  c|o  it."  "  No  you  dare 
not  do  it :  in  such  parricidal  attempt,  the  steel  would 
drop  from  your  nerveless  grasp."  —  Again,  he  says  :  "  if 
I  am  asked  what  is  to  be  done  when  a  people  feel  them 
selves  intolerably  oppressed  ?  my  answer  is  ready :  over 
turn  the  government."  But  such  a  time  of  intolerable 
oppression  he  thinks  the  present  is  not.  —  He  is  elected, 
spite  of  all  opposition,  by  a  commanding  majority  :  but 
in  this  House  of  Delegates  he  shall  not  speak  :  never  again 
in  any  house  of  Earth.  On  the  6th  day  of  June,  1799, 
he  dies.  This  Voice  is  dumb. 

That  this  man  had  faults  is  probable  enough,  that  little 
men,  envious  of  his  fame,  exaggerated  them  is  certain. 
He  was  a  frank,  fearless  Man  speaking  out  what  he  felt 
to  be  True.  Such  men  always  fare  worst  at  first,  best  at 
last,  and  Patrick  Henry  needs  no  labored  eulogium.  The 
curious  inquirer  would  fain  know  the  secret  of  this  Man's 
power.  As  shewn  by  Rhetorician  Wirt,  it  is  a  wonder 
ful  something;  one  can  hardly  see  what.  Where  did  he 
get  this  power  over  his  fellow-men  ?  It  was,  say  many, 
the  Gift  of  God.  Be  it  so  :  the  answer  is  a  good  one  for 
those  who  find  meaning  in  it.  But  be  it  noted  here  that 
Patrick  Henry  was  not  built  up  on  this  system,  nor  on 
that  other  ;  not  on  any  system  :  he  grew  up,  and  so  the 
Gift  of  God  unfolded  itself. 


116  PEBBLEBROOK. 


CHAPTER   XI. 


FOURTH      OF       JULY. 

SOON  after  my  arrival  at  Pebblebrook  I  heard  much 
talk  of  arrangements  for  the  celebration  of  the  anniversary 
of  our  National  Independence,  and  learned,  with  aston 
ishment,  that  Uncle  John  had  been  appointed  orator  of 
the  day.  It  happened  in  this  way.  At  the  town-meeting, 
after  much  talking  and  many  ballotings,  it  appeared  that 
no  choice  could  be  made ;  the  minister  and  lawyer  having 
each  a  large  party,  some  scattering  votes  defeated  the 
election.  At  last,  the  lawyer,  who  represented  the  town 
in  the  state  government,  rose  and  addressed  the  meeting. 
After  professions  of  his  love  for  his  country  ;  of  his  desire 
to  serve  his  fellow-men,  and  some  deprecatory  remarks 
about  his  own  ability,  he  concluded  by  saying  he  no 
longer  desired  to  be  considered  a  candidate  for  the  ora- 
torship.  His  fellow-townsmen  (he  said)  had  considered 
him  unworthy  to  address  them  on  the  national  holiday  ; 
he  should  hereafter  decline  all  public  offices,  and,  in  pri 
vate  life,  content  himself  with  the  consciousness  of  hav 
ing  performed  his  duty.  There  was  then  another  ballot 
ing,  and,  to  the  surprise  of  all  present,  Uncle  John,  who 
had  had  some  eight  or  ten  of  the  scattering  votes,  was 
declared  elected.  It  was  proposed  to  appoint  a  commit- 


FOURTH     OF     JULY.  117 

* 

tee  to  notify  him  of  his  election  :  but  he,  being  present, 
rose  and  said,  there  was  no  need  of  that  formality  :  he 
had  heard,  and  he  would  answer  on  the  spot.  He  had 
(he  continued)  lived  long  among  them,  he  had  talked  to 
them  all  individually,  and  he  was  quite  willing  to  speak 
to  them  collectively  ;  he  would  be  the  orator  of  the  day. 
There  was  an  almost  universal  clapping  of  hands  ;  for, 
though  they  had  not  heretofore  thought  of  him  as  an 
orator,  the  greater  part  loved  him  as  a  man. 

The  committee  of  arrangements,  appointed  at  the  same 
meeting,  were  busy  and  careful  about  many  things,  and 
when  the  day  drew  near  a  programma  of  the  procession 
appeared.  At  the  head  of  the  programma  stood  the 
escort  of  militia  ;  the  Selectmen  had  the  next  rank,  and 
the  Town  Clerk  and  Town  Treasurer  followed  ;  then  the 
Clergy  had  place,  followed  by  the  Regimental  Officers 
and  a  Standard  Bearer.  The  Orator  of  the  Day  preced 
ed  the  Distinguished  Strangers,  and  the  Committee  of 
Arrangements.  The  Common  Towns-people  brought  up 
the  rear.  There  were  some  half-dozen  Marshals  on  the 
flanks,  a  Chief  Marshal  in  front,  and  the  whole  thing,  on 
paper,  had  a  fair  appearance. 

"  What  place,"  said  I  one  day  at  dinner,  "  what  place 
shall  I  get  in  the  procession  ?  " 

"  Why,  cousin  Frank,"  said  Harriet,  "  you'll  be  one 
of  the  distinguished  strangers  :  I  heard  so  to-day." 

"  Yes,"  said  my  Uncle,  "  the  committee  are  fearful  of 
a  want  in  that  department ;  for  though  they  have  sent  invi 
tations  to  Natook,  and  other  towns,  no  answers  have  yet 
come  to  hand.  Frank,  you  shall,  once  in  your  life,  be 
distinguished  :  I  hope  you  will  bear  the  honor  meekly." 

I  replied,  "  I  shall  do  my  best  to  fiJJ  the  place  assigned 
me.  I  need  only  put  on  my  best  dress,  bear  myself  erect, 


118  PEBBLEBROOK. 

• 

and  look  straight  before  me  as  I  march  along.  My  part 
is  easy  enough  ;  but  how  goes  your  oration,  Uncle,  has 
it  got  shape  yet  ?  " 

"  No,  I  can't  say  that  it  has  got  shape,  but  it  has  got 
together.  Truly,  it  will  be  a  most  promiscuous  thing. 
I  began  some  time  ago  to  build  a  regular  Fourth  of  July 
oration  ;  1  put  facts  together,  as  masons  put  bricks,  one 
upon  another,  but  the  materials  had  been  so  often  used 
that  the  thing  I  worked  on  had  a  second-hand  appearance, 
and  I  quit  it.  I  commenced  anew  with  declamation 
about  the  invaluable  blessings  of  a  republican  govern 
ment,  the  unprecedented  progress  of  society  in  this  land 
of  liberty,  the  universal  diffusion  of  education,  and  the 
march  of  science.  It  would'nt  go,  Frank;  it  was  sick 
ening,  and  I  threw  my  papers  into  the  fire  ;  they  went  off 
in  smoke,  as  so  many  such  other  things,  in  one  way  and 
another,  have  gone.  I  then  resolved  to  let  my  thoughts 
run  wild,  and  see  what  they  would  bring  home.  Such 
things  as  have  come  to  me  in  the  field,  or  on  the  road,  I 
have  written  down,  and  now  I  am  weaving  them  together 
to  form  a  kind  of  whole.  The  old  spirit  that  is  in  me,  be 
it  Devil  or  not,  helps  the  thing  along,  and  I  believe  it 
will  finish  soon." 

The  long  looked-for  day  came  at  last,  and  an  old 
swivel-gun,  speaking  from  the  village  common,  called  me 
early  from  my  bed.  I  looked  out  and  saw  men  and  boys 
streaming  from  all  quarters  toward  the  common,  where 
some  half-hundred  were  already  assembled  in  front  of  a 
large  tent ;  over  which,  on  a  tall  flag-staff  rising  from  its 
centre,  floated  the  national  banner.  After  the  firing 
ceased  the  multitude  scattered  again  to  its  dwelling-pla 
ces  :  for  however  patriotic  men  and  boys  may  be,  they 
think  of  breakfast.  This  was  the  first  scene  of  the 


FOURTH      OF     JULY.  119 

drama ;  or  call  it  a  little  skirmishing  preparatory  to  the 
grand  operations  of  the  day.     The  next  appearance  was 
that  of  a  company   of  boys,   who   paraded   and  marched 
through  the  streets,  mimicking  the  town  militia.     Their 
tin-kettle  drum,  wooden  swords   and   guns,  handkerchief 
banner,  and  peacock  and  cockerel  feathers,  gave  promise 
of  no  very  bloody  work ;  still  one  must  think  that  Peace 
Societies  have  work  to  do  while  village  boys  find  pleasure 
in  bare  imagination  of  a  battle.     The  women  were  not 
idle  ;  one  could  see  them  in  little  troops  walking  toward 
the  common,  followed  by  men  and  boys  bearing  baskets; 
they  were  furnishing   the  tables   for  the  public   dinner. 
About  ten  o'clock  I  walked  to  the  common  to  see  what 
had  been  done  in  way  of  preparation.     The  tent  itself  was 
a  pretty  thing.     A  slender  scaffolding,   ten  or  twelve  feet 
high,  inclosed  an  area  of  some  three  thousand  square  feet ; 
being   about    one   hundred   feet  long,   and  thirty    wide. 
Boughs  of  trees,  with  all  their  foliage,  spread  upon  raft 
ers,  formed  the  roof;  and  young  pine  trees,   with  some 
earth  thrown  on  the  roots,  to  keep   them   in  an   upright 
position,  stood  all  around  at  the  sides,  forming  a  kind  of 
walls.     Within  the  tent  two  tables  extended  from  end  to 
end  :  and  at  the  head  a  short  one,  running  across,  united 
the  two.     On  the  clean  white  table-cloths  was  placed,  in 
regular  order,  crockery  and   glass  ware  of  many  colors 
and  sizes  :  for  every  woman  who  loved  her  country  had 
brought  out  her  best  for  the  national   holiday.     I   found 
my  way  through  the  chattering,  busy  crowd,  to   my   cou 
sins  Amelia  and  Harriet,  who   seemed  a  little  vexed.     I 
soon  learned  the  cause  ;  the  Table  Committee  had  placed 
the  ware  of  my  cousins  at  the  lower  end  of  the  tent,  "  be 
cause,"    said   Harriet,    "  it  happens   to  be   plain   white, 
though  it  is  of  the  nicest  here." 


120  PEBBLEBROOK. 

"  On  such  a  day  as  this,"  I  said,  "  private  feeling 
should  be  sacrificed  to  public  good  ;  and  on  all  great  oc 
casions,  individual  contributions  are  swallowed  up  in  the 
mighty  whole.  Men  or  women  cannot  work  together  in 
harmony,  unless  under  some  kind  of  government.  You, 
in  the  exercise  of  the  glorious  right  of  suffrage,  have 
chosen  five  respectable  matrons  to  rule  you  in  the  work  of 
this  day.  Having  chosen  rulers,  your  duty,  very  clearly, 
is  cheerful  obedience.  Much  is  said  of  the  rights  ol 
women,"  —  "  stop  Frank,  stop,"  cried  Amelia,  "  this  day, 
it  is  true,  is  the  Fourth  of  July,  but  the  hour  for  an  ora 
tion  has  not  come  yet."  Harriet  said,  "  It  is  pity  you 
stopped  him,  sister  :  he  was  going  on  very  well.  Did  you, 
get  near  the  end  of  your  speech,  Frank  ?  —  Is'nt  this 
beautiful?  See  how  we  have  placed  the  flowers,  red 
white  and  blue,  among  the  branches  of  these  little  pines. 
It  is  a  sweet  place  now  —  but  to-night,  how  it  will  look  ! 
I  have  seen  the  remains  of  a  man-feast  once,  Frank  : 
you  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  such  work :  I  am  glad  there 
is  to  be  nothing  stronger  than  wine  here  to-day  —  that  is 
strong  enough." 

The  sound  of  martial  music  reminded  me,  that  the 
time  for  forming  the  procession  drew  near  ;  and  after  ex 
pressing  my  admiration  of  the  order  and  decorations  of 
the  tent,  which  were  indeed  praiseworthy,  I  walked  to 
ward  the  tavern.  There  was  a  crowd  of  men  and  boys : 
the  marshals  were  busy,  and  had  no  little  trouble  in  get 
ting  the  procession  into  marching  order.  At  last,  how 
ever,  the  swivel  gun,  speaking  again,  set  the  mass  in  mo 
tion,  and  in  truth,  it  drew  itself  out  in  pretty  good  form. 
The  number  of  distinguished  strangers  had  increased  be 
yond  expectation :  Uncle  Thomas  and  the  chief  men  of 
Natook  were  there,  as  were  also  many  from  other  towns  ; 


FOURTH     OF     JULY.  121 

and,  I,  who  had  hoped  to  be  quite  prominent,  as  one  of 
the  few  men  of  distinction,  was  almost  out  of  sight  in  the 
crowd.  Everything  went  on  well  except  the  boys,  who 
ran  to  and  fro  along  the  flanks,  shouting  and  laughing, 
annoying  the  marshals  much  ;  who,  in  vain,  strove  to  keep 
them  in  order.  When  all  other  means  had  failed  of  effect, 
the  chief  marshal,  with  a  presence  of  mind  deserving  of 
happy  results,  ordered  a  platoon  of  the  escort,  to  wheel 
out  on  either  side  and  drive  the  boys  to  the  rear.  The 
rogues,  however,  shouting  aloud,  jumped  over  fences  into 
the  fields ;  and,  as  soon  as  the  platoons  returned  to  their 
place,  re-appeared  again  on  our  flanks,  noisier  than 
before. 

"  The  boys  have  the  best  of  it,"  said  a  man  at  my  side. 
I  looked  up  and  saw  a  face,  through  which  an  old  friend 
seemed  to  look  out  on  me. 

"  In  this  world  of  grave  formalities,"  he  continued, 
"  where  the  seniors  stalk  solemnly  along,  these  young 
freshmen  play  an  important  part:  they  show  us  the  other 
side  of  things.  This  imposing  procession  of  the  chief 
men  of  Pebblebrook,  and  many  strangers  of  distinction, 
each  one  with  his  best  side  out,  is  a  kind  of  Procession 
of  Fools  to  many  of  these  boys.  See  that  fellow  mimick 
ing  the  swaggering  gait  of  the  man  before  us  :  —  as  I 
live,  there  is  one  making  a  miniature  copy  of  yourself." 
I  looked  where  he  pointed,  and  saw  a  little  rascal  holding 
his  body  very  erect,  his  arms  close  to  his  sides,  and 
stretching  his  neck  to  protrude  his  head  in  front.  I  be 
lieve  1  she'wed  some  vexation,  for  the  man  added.  "  It  is 
rather  a  caricature  than  a  likeness." 

As  we  marched  along  through  the  principal  streets, 
enveloped  in  a  cloud  of  dust,  the  stranger  continued  his 
lively  and  somewhat  instructive  talk.  I  tried  to  recollect, 
11 


122 


PEBBLEBROOK. 


where  and  when  I  had  seen  him  before ;  and  at  last  said, 
"  I  wish  you  would  assist  me,  Sir  ;  we  have  certainly  met 
before,  but  I  cannot  remember  where." 

"  Perhaps,"   replied  he,  smiling,  "  you  have  dreamed 
of  such  a  being  as  I,  —  there  are  times,  when  the  things 
present  seem  to  be  only  copies   of  things  which  we  have 
known  in  another  state  of  existence.     This  world  of  the 
senses  is  in  truth  not  the  only  one,  perhaps  not  the  real 
one  :  we  have  an  ideal  World.     In  solitary  hours,  when 
the  bodily  eye  is  closed  on  the  diorama  of  the  Present,  and 
the  loud  din  of  the  Actual  is  not  in  our  ears,  the  creative 
spirit  works  as   in   Eternity.     So   in  lonely  hours,  in  the 
depths  of  his  own  soul,  the  artist  conceives   the  Beauty 
and  Truth,  which  he  must  toilsomely  work  out  for  other 
men,  and  for  himself  in  some  actual  form.     In  that  form, 
if  the  hand  of  Genius  have  indeed  produced  it,  the  spec 
tator  shall  see  so  much  as  he  has  capacity  for ;  your  com 
mon  man,  only  pretty  colors  on    canvas,  another  man  — 
something  more."     He  laughing,  added,  "  But  this  is  no 
very  fit  time  to  talk  of  the  ideal    world,  while  we  inhale 
with  every  breath  the  dust  of  earth.     I  intended  to  say, 
that  in  some  of  your  imagings,  when  you  were  partly 
asleep  to  this  world,  you  had  perhaps,  created  some  being 
of  which  I  remind  you." 

"  I  am  not,"  I  rejoined,  "such  a  creator  as  you  think : 
this  is,  indeed,  your  second  actual  appearance  to  me,  in 
this  world  of  the  senses  :  I  remember  now,  where  we 
first  met."  I  recalled  to  his  recollection  our  meeting  at 
the  little  tavern  some  thirty  days  before.  We  had  now 
arrived  at  the  old  Church:  we  entered  it  and  took 
seats,  as  the  Committee  of  Arrangements  had  prescribed. 
The  galleries  were  already  filled  with  women  and  chil 
dren,  who  looked  down  on  us,  dust  covered  mortals,  with 
laughing  faces. 


FOURTH     OF     JULY.  123 

The  clergyman,  in  a  long  prayer,  did  his  part  of  the 
day's  work  very  well :  no  high  and  mighty  thing  in  all 
the  land  was  forgotten.  After  an  anthem  had  been  sung, 
the  Orator  of  the  Day  arose.  I  own,  I  felt  some  degree 
of  anxiety  :  he  was  little  used  to  public  speaking :  he 
had  certainly  never  attempted  an  oration  before,  and  I 
was  fearful  that  he  would  not  succeed.  My  fears  soon 
vanished.  He  spoke  as  in  common  conversation,  except 
that  his  voice  was  louder,  and  his  utterance,  for  distinct 
ness  sake,  somewhat  slower.  He  had  little  action  :  a  care 
less  on-looker  might  have  said,  he  had  none  :  there  was, 
however,  as  one  who  looked  closer  might  see,  an  opening 
and  closing  of  the  hands,  sometimes  a  slight,  yet  earnest, 
bending  forward  of  the  body  ;  a  kind  of  action,  in  short, 
quite  indescribable  :  such  as  is  taught  in  no  school  of  ora 
tory  ;  such  only  as  his  own  inmost  feelings  impelled  him 
to.  — He  commenced  thus:  "  One  of  the  best  effects  of 
this  national  holiday  is,  that  it  brings  men  of  different 
sects  in  politics  and  religion,  men  of  different  trades  and 
professions,  to  unite  in  a  common  object ;  one  that  ex 
cludes,  or  should  exclude,  all  sectional  feeling.  This  is 
our  public  Jubilee  day  of  political  freedom :  surely  a 
great  day  in  the  history  of  mankind.  It  is,  however,  only 
the  anniversary  of  Freedom's  Proclamation  Day,  and  a 
proclamation  is  ever  intrinsically  a  little  thing  ;  something 
must  precede  it  to  bring  it  forth,  much  must  follow  to 
make  it  good.  It  should  never  be  forgotten,  that  without 
higher  freedom,  political  freedom  cannot  long  exist  among 
any  people.  What,  indeed,  is  true  Freedom  ?  Does  it 
stand  written  in  our  Constitutions  and  statute  books  1 
The  smallest  part  of  it  lies  in  these,  which  are  only  the 
things  Freedom  has  made.  Written  laws  are  for  the  most 
part  negative,  with  a  penalty  annexed,  and  the  best  say 


124  PEBBLEBROOK. 

no  more  than  this :  you  shall  not  injure  your  neighbor. 
These  are  only  the  restraints  which  a  free  people  imposes 
on  itself,  to  keep  its  vicious  members  in  awe  ;  and  the 
multiplication  of  laws,  indicating  the  increase  of  vice,  and 
the  reliance  on  punishment  for  its  suppression,  is  no  very 
favorable  symptom  in  the  body  politic.  But,  I  have  no 
wish  to  dwell  on  this  negative  side  of  things :  we  must 
look  for  our  salvation  to  the  positive  and  affirmative,  to 
that  which  is  above  written  law  :  in  freedom  of  thought 
and  action  ;  in  that  freedom  which  arises  from  the  soul 
of  man.  I  must,  however,  say  here,  that  public  govern 
ment  is  a  necessary  thing ;  and  that  in  this  country, 
where  we-the-people  appoint  our  own  Governors  and 
law-makers,  our  plain  duty  is  cheerful  obedience  to  all 
that  is  good,  and  quiet  removal  of  all  that  is  bad."  He 
went  on,  speaking  of  other  restraints  on  individual  action  ; 
of  societies  for  moral  and  religious  purposes,  and  broke 
out  of  bounds  in  the  following  utterance,  "  Society,  as  I 
figure  it,  is  one  vast  Whirlpool,  made  up  of  many  other 
Whirlpools :  Whirlpools  commercial,  political,  moral, 
religious,  (so  called)  :  and  these  again,  contain  innumer 
able  smaller  sectarian  Whirlpools  ;  which,  alas,  too  often 
whirl  in  opposite  directions.  Into  one  or  another  of 
these  Whirlpools  almost  every  individual  man  is  drawn  : 
as  he  approaches  the  centre,  (whirlpools  being  concave,) 
he  loses  sight  of  everything  beyond  his  circle,  and,  at  last, 
believes  that  there  is  nothing  good  or  great  elsewhere. 
Look,  for  instance,  into  the  abolition  Whirlpool :  see  how 
it  foams  and  rushes,  whirling  its  victims  round  and  round, 
till  they  become  dizzy,  crazy,  and  rave :  the  whole  moral 
world  lies  there  they  think, -and  would  all  men  come  in 
and  whirl  with  them,  the  world  were  saved.  Or,  see 
your  religious  sectarian  enthusiast,  how  he  whirls  and 


FOURTH     OF     JULY.  125 

shouts  :  Salvation  in  this  circle,  Damnation  beyond  it. 
The  miserable  man  who  gets  into  the  very  centre  of  his 
whirlpool  is  drawn  down  out  of  sight  and  drowned : 
sometimes,  however,  such  a  one  is  thrown  up  again  be 
yond  his  circle  half  drowned,  good  for  nothing.  The  most 
ridiculous  mortal  of  all,  perhaps,  is  he,  who  lives  as  he 
may,  alternately,  in  some  two  or  three  of  these  vor 
texes  :  so  your  shrewd  man  of  trade  shall  whirl  some 
six  days  here,  clutching  much  ;  and  on  the  seventh,  lo, 
he  is  there,  bathing  in  some  pool  proclaimed  of  Siloam ; 
from  which  he  shall  come  forth  on  the  morrow  a  Leper 
still.  See  your  violent  abolition  man,  who  is  also  mem 
ber  of  the  non-resistance  society  :  or  your  eager  politi 
cian  who,  at  the  same  time,  is  temperance  man.  Will  not 
this  whirlpool  swallow  up  that,  and  then  where  were  his 
office  with  all  the  loaves  and  fishes  1  But  enough  of  this, 
quite  enough  :  miserable  men  are  ye  all  who  would  serve 
two  masters  !  Better  is  it  to  serve  none  save  that  One  who 
is  in  Heaven."  —  While  he  spake  thus,  many  faces  shewed 
symptoms  of  discontent,  and  I  was  glad  when  he  got 
through  his  whirlpools  and  sailed  along  on  smoother  seas. 
It  is  not  my  intention  to  impose  the  whole  of  this  4th  of 
July  Oration  on  the  Reader,  but  only  to  quote  some  pass 
ages  here  and  there.  The  one  which  follows  gave  to 
the  Audience  a  more  smiling  aspect. 

"  Besides  these  restraints  of  the  general  government 
which,  for  political  purposes,  are  in  great  part  necessary 
and  useful ;  and  those  of  societies,  or  associations,  which 
for  moral  purposes  are  for  the  most  part  quite  unnecessa 
ry  and  injurious ;  there  are  others  not  less  real  though 
not  so  tangible.  Fashion  and  Etiquette!  how  do  these 
fetter  us  in  our  daily  life ;  how  many  sacrifices  do  we 
make  to  these  invisible  potentates  !  Few  passages  in  his- 
11* 


126 


PEBBLEBROOK. 


tory  are  more  instructive  than  that  which  records  the 
death  of  Philip  II,  King  of  Spain.  His  Majesty  is  sit 
ting  one  day  before  an  immense  wood-fire,  which  burns 
fiercer  and  fiercer ;  but  Majesty  may  not  move :  he  is 
chained  to  his  chair  by  grandeur  :  domestics  presume  not 
to  enter  the  apartment,  Etiquette  forbidding.  The  Mar 
quis  de  Portat  enters,  and  Majesty  orders  him  to  damp 
the  fire  :  Marquis  refuses  on  score  of  Etiquette  ;  that  be 
ing  the  Duke  D'Usseda's  function.  The  Duke,  alas,  is 
abroad  :  the  fire  burns  fiercer  ;  and  King  Philip,  king- 
like,  endures  it  rather  than  move  his  chair  like  a  common 
man.  King's  blood  is  somewhat  like  other  blood  and 
will  heat ;  so  next  day  comes  erysipelas  followed  by  fever, 
and  Majesty  dies  twenty-four  years  old.  Is  this  matter-of- 
fact  or  fiction  ?  It  matters  not  much  which  :  there  is  some 
thing  heroic  in  the  idea  of  Majesty  roasting  so ;  kingly 
knees  crisping  :  the  M  artyr  Hero,  not  twenty-four  years 
old  !  Let  each  man  here  be  thankful  that  he  is  not  a  king 
of  Spain.  I  said  it  matters  not  much  whether  this  story 
be  matter-of-fact  or  fiction ;  for  Etiquette  must  have 
done  much  before  the  idea  of  such  a  fiction  could  arise 
in  the  mind  of  man."  The  use  which  the  Orator  made 
of  this  story,  each  reader  may  imagine ;  and  consider 
also  how  he  himself  is  chained  by  Etiquette  and  Fashion. 
The  greater  part  of  his  speech  about  Morality  and  Re 
ligion,  might  be  misapprehended,  and  I  will  give  only  one 
passage.  u  The  cold  moonbeans  of  Morality  may  indeed 
throw  a  faint  light  on  the  field  of  Humanity,  but  the  sun 
beams  of  Religion  alone  can  warm  and  vivify  the  soil, 
and  call  forth  in  beauty  the  plants  of  God.  In  this  lower 
world,  however,  by  God's  appointment,  Moonlight  must 
ever  alternate  with  Sunlight :  that  is  indeed  no  more  than 
the  reflection  of  this."  Two  or  three  disconnected  pass- 


FOURTH     OF     JULY. 

ages  more  and  the  rest  of  this  discourse  may  remain  in 
its  unpublished  state. 

"  The  fatal  error  of  many  men  is  this ;  that  in  their  pur 
suit  of  knowledge  they  get  wedded  to  some  one  of  the  many 
systems  with  which  this  earth  abounds  ;  and  then  the 
question  is  not  what  is  True?  but,  what  conforms  to  my 
system  ?  All  that  conforms  thereto  is  true ;  all  that  does 
not  is  false  or  obscure."  —  "  By  and  by  perhaps  men  will 
learn  that  Truth  does  prevail  though  the  self-styled 
Champions  of  Truth  often  fail  to  establish  their  dogmas. 
Truth  is  seen  when  the  battle  of  Errors  has  ceased.  Er 
rors  stand  against  each  other,  on  hill-tops,  fighting  osten 
sibly  for  Truth,  which  is  on  neither  side,  but  dwells  in 
the  quiet  valley  between.  Amid  the  roar  of  the  conflict 
her  voice  is  unheard,  and  through  the  smoke  her  form  is 
unseen.  At  last,  however,  ammunition  fails,  and  the 
combatants,  being  weary,  fall  asleep.  When  the  sleepers 
wake  cool  and  refreshed,  lo,  Truth  is  there  among  them, 
an  Angel  of  Mercy  proclaiming  peace  !  " 

"  Women,  it  is  said,  have  no  political  rights :  why 
should  they  have  ?  No  power!  it  said,  foolishly  enough : 
cannot  they  wheedle  and  coax  1  Is  there  then  no  power 
but  such  as  is  proclaimed  in  the  market-place  and  pub 
lished  in  newspapers.  Love  is  the  stillest  of  all  powers 
and  also  the  greatest :  without  it  existence  were  in  no 
way  possible.  The  high  and  mighty  ones  of  Earth  were 
all  once  hidden  in  the  bosoms  of  their  mothers.  Did  not 
woman  nurse  the  puny  things  into  strength  and  teach 
them  the  wondrous  art  of  speech? — Have  women  no 
power  ?  Alas,  for  an  unbelieving  age,  when  God  has  be 
come  a  faint  tradition  and  miracles  have  ceased.  The 
good,  loving  mother,  who  has  left  this  visible  world,  has 
yet  more  power  here  than  the  brawling  demagogue  who 


128 


PEBBLEBROOK 


can  carry  many  votes  in  a  political  election.  Poor  woman, 
with  thy  little  ambition,  who  sittest  disconsolate  beside 
thy  sleeping  Infant  and  canst  not  vote  !  Did  She  whom 
men  have  named  Mother  of  God  vote?" 

The  conclusion  of  the  oration  was  in  these  words. 
"  Political  freedom  is  a  thing  of  Time  and  Earth  :  True 
Freedom  is  of  Eternity  and  Heaven.  The  words  which 
this  Freedom  speaks  shall  endure.  Did  Martin  Luther 
or  Paul  of  Tarsus  live  in  political  freedom  or  even  per 
sonal  ?  Far  from  it :  The  latter  bore  visible  chains :  both 
were  compassed  about  by  the  powers  of  Church  and 
State,  and  threatened  with  dungeons  and  Death.  Yet  the 
Free  Soul  that  was  in  them  spoke  out  the  Truth ;  and  we, 
the  little  men  of  this  day  profit  by  it." 

The  oration  over,  another  anthem  sung,  and  the  bless 
ing  pronounced,  the  living  mass  poured  itself  out,  in  many 
colored  streams,  through  the  three  doors  of  the  church 
into  the  open  air :  the  darker  part  gathered  itself  into 
form  again  and  marched  to  sound  of  drum  and  fife 
along  the  broad  highway  ;  while  the  lighter  colored 
spread  in  all  directions  through  by-ways  and  over  fields. 
The  old  church  stood  there  quite  passive  with  a  stupid 
look  of  unconcern. 

We,  of  the  procession,  marched  straight  toward  the 
common,  and,  as  we  approached  the  tent,  could  see  men 
and  boys  with  smoking  baskets  enter  it ;  for  the  meats 
had  been  cooked  in  many  houses.  We  were  obliged  to 
halt  in  front  of  the  tent,  and  wait  awhile,  till  all  within 
was  in  order  :  there  were  impatient  looks  and  utterances  ; 
for  it  was  now  three  o'clock,  and  the  usual  dinner  hour  of 
the  villagers  is  at  high  noon  :  they  were  eager  for  food. 

I  shall  not  attempt  to  describe  this  feast :  my  recollec 
tion  of  the  first  hour  passed  at  table  is  tolerably  distinct. 


FOURTH     OF     JULY.  129 

Soon  as  the  clergyman  had  said  grace,  there  was  a  great 
clattering  of  knives  and  forks  on  plates ;  followed  by  a 
hum  of  many  voices.  When  this  great  business  of  eating 
ceased,  the  regular  toasts  were  announced :  speeches  and 
songs  followed,  and  the  company  grew  noisy:  there  was 
clapping  of  hands  and  huzzas.  I  drank  glass  after  glass 
of  wine,  got  into  high  glee,  and  said  witty  things,  or 
things  that  passed  for  such.  I  laughed,  talked,  smoked, 
and  drank  much.  The  scene  before  me  began  to  put  on 
a  strange  appearance.  I  saw  many  things,  but  nothing 
distinctly.  The  men  around  seemed  to  rock  in  their 
seats,  and  to  be  about  to  fall ;  and;  though  they  spoke 
often,  I  could  find  no  precise  meaning  in  their  words. 
Are  they  all  tipsy?  I  said  to  myself;  or  am  I  tipsy?  I 
began  to  feel  the  need  of  circumspection  :  I  took  myself 
together  as  well  as  I  could  and  was  silent.  I  felt  a  half- 
consciousness  that  I  was  in  a  dangerous  state,  and  thought 
of  getting  away  from  the  place.  A  hand  fell  gently 
on  my  shoulder  and  I  heard  a  voice  say:  "  Frank,  it  is 
time  to  go."  I  rose  with  some  difficulty  and  found  my 
arm  within  Uncle  John's.  We  made  our  way  through 
the  pine  trees  at  the  side  of  the  tent,  and  walked  across 
the  fields  to  our  home.  My  Aunt  and  cousins  were  sit 
ting  in  the  doorway  of  their  house,  and  I  wished  to  speak 
to  them  but  dared  not  trust  my  tongue.  They  spoke  to 
me  and  I  answered  in  the  fewest  possible  words.  Uncle 
John  said  something  about  the  fatigues  of  the  day,  and 
invited  me  to  go  up  stairs  and  rest  with  him.  When  I 
was  upon  the  bed  every  thing  in  the  room  seemed  to  be 
in  motion,  and  I  soon  lost  all  consciousness  :  How  long 
I  slept  I  know  not,  but  1  had  dreams,  which  were  not 
altogether  dreams.  I  wandered  over  a  sandy  desert  and 
was  dying  of  thirst.  I  searched  long  and  eagerly  for 


130 


PEBBLEBROOK. 


water :  a  cool  looking  spring  babbled  up  beneath  my  feet, 
but  when  I  stooped  to  drink,  the  water  vanished  ere  my 
lips  could  touch  it.  —  At  last,  however,  after  many  dreams 
of  the  same  kind,  I  awoke.  My  mouth  and  throat  were 
dry  and  parched,  and  I  could  hardly  move  my  tongue. 
The  moon  threw  a  little  light  into  the  room,  and  I  found 
a  pitcher  of  water  on  a  table,  of  which  I  drank  freely.  I 
returned  to  my  bed  and  slept  again. 


- 


THE     NEXT     DAY.  131 


CHAPTER   XII. 


THE     NEXT      DAY. 

THE  rising  sun  threw  bright  light  on  my  eyelids,  and  I 
awoke,  thirsty  and  feverish.  I  bathed  my  face  and  head 
in  cold  water,  and  walked  out  of  doors.  The  blue  Hea 
ven  was  above  me,  and  the  green  Earth  around  ;  the  wild 
bee  hummed  as  he  flew  from  flower  to  flower,  and  merry 
birds  sang  to  each  other  in  the  trees ;  but  1  joyed  not  in 
these  things.  I  sat  down  on  a  bank  and  had  bitter 
thoughts.  The  voice  of  one  singing  roused  me  from  my 
gloomy  reflections  ;  I  looked  up  and  saw  my  Uncle  com 
ing  across  the  fields. 

"  Good  morning,  Frank,"  he  said  ;  "  you  are  abroad 
early  ;  but  why  sit  moping  here  ?  " 

I  told  him  my  thoughts  and  feelings,  my  remorse  for 
the  past,  and  my  resolutions  for  the  future.  I  know  not 
how  it  is,  but  of  all  men  I  can  talk  most  freely  to  Uncle 
John.  He  is  not  a  saint ;  he  is  a  sinner ;  but  then  a  sin 
ner  of  the  right  kind  ;  his  sins  are  all  on  the  outside  :  but 
his  goodness  seems  to  be  deep,  so  deep  that  he  is  uncon 
scious  of  it. 

"  Don't  be  gloomy  about  the  matter,  Frank,  you  have 
committed  no  unpardonable  sin,  whatever  men  may  say 
of  it.  True,  it  is  a  mortifying  thing  to  get  tipsy  and  act 


132  PEBBLEBROOK. 

out  the  fool,  but  not  quite  so  bad  as  acting  the  scoun 
drel's  part  when  sober." 

"  That  may  be  very  true,"  I  replied ;  "  but  I  can 
hardly  bear  to  look  my  friends  in  the  face  after  having 
demeaned  myself  so." 

•'  Pshaw  Frank,  don't  be  foolish  to-day  too.  Not  too 
much  remorse  for  the  past ;  the  thing  lies  there  done,  and 
you  cannot  undo  it :  no  resolutions  for  the  time  to  come ; 
the  Future  is  not  to  be  mortgaged  for  the  redemption  of 
the  Past.  Pay  for  the  Past  to-day ;  the  quicker  you  pay 
the  better.  The  whole  of  morality  lies  in  this  :  Do  well 
To-day.  Come,  go  about  among  people,  and  submit 
to  the  mortification  your  folly  deserves  ;  perhaps  it  will 
do  you  good,  and  take  away  a  little  of  your  self-righteous 
ness.  Come,  let  us  go  to  breakfast."  We  entered  the 
house  and  took  seats  at  table.  My  Aunt  and  cousins  said 
little,  and  seemed  to  avoid  all  reference  to  the  festivities 
of  the  preceding  day.  I  felt  ill  at  ease  :  but  my  Uncle 
was  sociable  as  usual,  and  led  the  conversation  away  to 
safe  ground.  As  we  rose  from  table,  he  said,  "  I  expect 
a  visitor  to-day  ;  the  Agent  of  an  Agricultural  Society  : 
I  got  acquainted  with  him  yesterday  at  dinner,  and  in 
vited  him  to  look  at  my  farm." 

Soon  after  breakfast  the  Agent  came  in,  and  I  saw  my 
old  friend  of  the  little  inn,  who  had  walked  with  me  in 
the  procession. 

"  One  of  the  pleasant  things  in  a  wandering  life,"  he 
said,  "  is  the  unexpected  meeting  with  an  old  acquaint 
ance  :  or,  as  in  this  case,  with  a  half-acquaintance,  of 
whom  one  knows  just  enough  to  wish  to  know  more  :  — 
I  am  glad  to  see  you  again." 

I  returned  his  greeting  and  said.  «'  Your  frankness  at 
our  first  meeting  has  had  consequences  ;  it  has  made  this 
meeting  a  pleasant  one  to  me." 


THE      NEXT     BAY.  133 

I  told  Uncle  John  of  our  previous  meetings,  and  he, 
with  a  glad  look,  exclaimed  :  "  It  is  good  !  We  never 
know  what  we  do  :  cause  and  effect  are  not  quite  so  cal 
culable  as  our  moralists  suppose :  Let  them  preach  as 
they  may,  brotherly  sociability  is  as  good  as  anything, 
and  Prudence  is  the  Coward's  virtue.  The  prudent,  cau 
tious  man,  dares  not  warm  himself  at  the  fire  of  Love, 
because,  forsooth,  it  may  scorch  his  clothes." 

The  talk  soon  turned  to  agricultural  matters.  Uncle 
John  brought  forth  two  folios  in  manuscript,  saying, 
"  The  first  proprietor  of  my  farm,  Doctor  Pike,  kept  an 
agricultural  journal,  and  enjoined  on  his  successor  to  con 
tinue  it :  his  injunction  has  been  pretty  faithfully  followed, 
and  we  have  here  a  history  of  this  farm,  and  of  matters 
relating  thereto,  since  it  emerged  from  the  wilderness. 
I  have  made  a  summary  of  the  whole,  and  this  smaller 
book  contains,  I  ^believe,  the  substance  of  the  matter." 
They  busied  themselves  some  half-hour  looking  it  over, 
till  the  Agent  said  : 

"  Perhaps  we  are  beginning  at  the  wrong  end  of  this 
business  :  before  we  reason  and  draw  conclusions,  it  were 
well  to  see  the  thing  we  are  reading  about.  Let  us,  if 
you  please,  walk  out  and  inspect  your  farm :  afterward, 
we  can  more  profitably  read  and  talk  about  its  culture." 

"  Quite  right,"  the  other  replied,  "  your  remark,  if  I 
mistake  not,  hits  a  large  class  of  Talkers  and  Readers." 

They  went  abroad,  and  I  passed  a  somewhat  listless  fore 
noon.  I  tried  to  read,  but  was  out  of  tune  and  found 
nothing  interesting.  My  head  ached,  and  I  wished  to 
sleep  but  could  not. 

The  Agent  dined  with  us  :  the  conversation  was  mostly 
on  agricultural  matters,  running  off  however  at  times  to 
other  subjects.     The  diverse   emyloyments  of  men  were 
12 


134  PEBBLES  ROOK. 

compared  ;  and  that  of  cultivating  our  mother  Earth 
found  to  be  most  innocent,  and  most  useful,  of  any  whose 
object  is  the  support  of  life. 

While  the  two  men  were  thus  extolling  their  own  vo 
cation,  the  women  had  chat  of  another  kind.  One  of 
my  Aunt's  daughters,  lately  married,  had  done  the  world 
the  favor  to  bring  forth  a  little  boy  ;  and  thus  made  my 
Aunt,  grandmother,  and  my  cousins,  aunts.  There  was, 
as  is  usual,  much  talk  of  the  little  one's  looks,  of  his 
health,  and  of  that  important  thing,  a  name. 

"  What  can  we  call  him  ?  said  Harriet,  "  there  are 
many  pretty  names,  but  they  are  all  so  common." 

"  Call  him,"  said  I,  "Tom,  Dick  or  Harry  now,  and 
let  him  choose  for  himself  when  he  gets  older.  It  is  an 
imposition,  to  fasten  a  name  on  a  human  being  without 
his  consent :  he  ought  to  be  consulted  about  a  matter  so 
important." 

"  Pooh!  "  exclaimed  Amelia,  "  there  are  greater  im 
positions  than  that :  these  little  things  are  brought  into 
existence  without  their  consent :  I  think  they  ought  to  be 
consulted  about  that  matter  too." 

The  Agent  overheard  this  remark,  which  I  believe  was 
not  meant  for  his  ear,  arid  laughing,  said  :  "  that  is  rather 
too  radical,  Miss:  you  carry  the  doctrine  of  Free  Will 
somewhat  farther  than  is  practicable  ;  which,  however,  is 
well  enough  by  way  of  joke." 

"  Indeed,"  he  continued,  "  there  is  much  grave  non 
sense  current  on  this  matter  of  Free  Will ;  and  grave 
nonsense  is,  as  I  think,  the  worst  kind.  We  are  not 
quite  so  free  as  some  moralists  assert.  In  one  most  im 
portant  event,  that  of  coming  into  this  world,  we  have  no 
will ;  and  in  another,  that  of  going  out  of  it,  we  are  by 
no  means  free :  in  truth,  the  man  who,  in  this  last  event 


THE     NEXT     DAY.  loO 

exerts  free  will,  is  said  to  be  insane.  —  Are  the  children  of 
Poverty  and  Ignorance  as  free  to  choose  and  take  a  re 
spectable  rank  in  society,  as  those  are  whose  lot  is  cast  in 
pleasant  places  ?  " 

"  Free  Will  and  Necessity,"  said  Uncle  John,  "  can 
not  be  explained  ;  and  one  must  almost  weep  over  the 
condemnations,  which  the  self-righteous  utter  against 
their  fellow-creatures.  On  the  whole,  I  am  glad  that 
there  are  things  in  this  existence  which  cannot  be  under 
stood  and  explained;  for  so  only  is  Faith  necessary;  Faith 
in  Higher  Powers.  —  A  neighbor  came  in  to  ask  my 
Uncle's  assistance  in  planning  a  barn  he  was  about  to 
build,  and  our  little  party  broke  up.  Toward  night,  how 
ever,  we  got  together  again,  and  some  half  dozen  visitors 
joined  us  :  there  were  the  minister  and  his  wife,  the  law 
yer,  a  zealous  temperance  man,  and  an  old  farmer.  The 
conversation,  after  running  in  one  direction  and  another, 
fixed  at  last,  little  to  my  satisfaction,  on  the  Temperance 
question.  I  got  a  seat  near  my  cousins,  and  kept  still. 

As  this  question  has  been  discussed  of  late,  in  all  news 
papers  and  public  places,  as  well  as  in  private  circles,  I 
shall  not  detail  the  conversation  here.  The  oration  of 
the  preceding  day  was  mentioned ;  not  kf  terms  of 
commendation.  After  the  visitors  departed,  the  Agent 
who  was  to  pass  the  night  with  us,  said :  "  The  thoughts 
of  many  men  seem  to  run  straight,  as  along  a  turnpike 
road,  toward  some  market-place  ;  one  always  knows 
whither  they  are  bound:  the  minister  seemed  to  have 
an  over-load  of  morality."  "  Well,"  £said  my  Aunt, 
"  he  always  does  seem  to  be  over-loaded  with  something  ; 
he  has  so  much  good  to  do,  no  wonder  he  is  anxious  : 
and  his  wife,  who  used  to  be  such  a  merry  girl,  goes 


136  PEBBLEBROOK. 

round  now,  and  talks  seriously  to  all  the  women  and 
children  :  —  they  have  a  great  deal  to  do." 

My  Uncle  said  to  the  Agent.  "You  will  wrong  the 
minister,  if  you  judge  him  by  this  evening's  talk  :  some 
times,  when  the  man  breaks  out  through  the  priest,  you 
would  like  him." 

I  was  right  glad  when  this  day  was  over,  and  I  could 
get  into  my  bed  out  of  sight. 


SUNDAY.  137 


CHAPTER     XIII. 


SUNDAY. 

ONE  standing  in  the  midst  of  a  living  mass  cannot, 
properly  speaking,  see  it,  but  only  some  insignificant  por 
tion  thereof:  but  when  one  gets  above  it  he  can  not  only 
see  but  oversee  it.  What  is  this  Transcendental  Philo 
sophy  so  much  applauded  on  the  one  hand,  so  much  de 
cried  on  the  other,  so  much  talked  of  every  where? 
Simply  this  :  getting  above  the  World  and  looking  down 
on  it.  Poetry  is  perhaps  something  more  ;  a  voice  from 
Heaven  calling  on  the  World  to  rise. 

This  Sunday  morning,  good  Reader,  let  us,  in  our  way, 
be  transcendental  if  we  cannot  be  poetic :  let  us  ascend 
one  of  the  hills  which  encompass  our  Pebblebrook  and 
look  down  on  it. — How  quiet  it  lies  there  below  us  in  the 
morning  light  resting  after  its  week-day  life  !  Even  the 
draught-cattle  shall  this  day  put  on  no  harness,  but  may 
roam  abroad  over  pasture-lands  gathering  sweet  morsels. 
Beneath  those  humble  roofs  the  blessed  influences  of 
domestic  affections  are  at  work  ;  not  with  loud  tumult  of 
proclamation — but  silently,  doing  much.  Fathers  and 
Mothers  sit  there  with  their  broods  of  little  ones.  Voices 
come  up  to  us  from  the  plain  below ;  Nature's  voices  . 
the  lowing  of  cattle  which  is  the  voice  of  Desire  or,  if 
12* 


138  PEBBLEBROOK. 

you  will,  of  Prayer  ;  the  cackle  of  barn-door  fowls  which 
is  the  voice  of  Content ;  the  songs  of  many  birds  which 
are  the  voices  of  Joy  and  Love  ;  the  shrill  cry  of  the 
cock  which  is  the  voice  of  Triumph.  See  how  that  sil 
ver  brook  runs  along  with  fantastic  curvings  through  the 
deep  green  meadows,  where  many  trees  shake  their  glit 
tering  leaves  in  the  sunshine.  But,  lo,  now,  while  the 
church  steeple,  with  metal  tongue,  speaks  invitingly,  hun 
dreds  of  apparitions  come  forth  from  their  hiding-places, 
and  move  across  fields,  and  along  trodden  pathways, 
toward  a  common  point.  There  are  Spirits  in  Trowsers 
and  Spirits  in  Petticoats  mutually  attractive.  How 
kind  Spirit  in  Trowsers  is  to  Spirit  in  Petticoat,  re 
moving  all  barriers !  She  stands  there  in  many-colored 
dress,  under  canopy  of  green  silk,  while  he  lets  down  all 
bars  to  her  progress.  I  guess  there  is  love  on  Earth  and 
more  Spirits  shall  be  embodied  as  of  old.  Alas  !  these 
fair  forms,  one  by  one,  are  vanishing :  and  now  the  old 
Meeting-house  has  swallowed  them  all.  Weep  not  my 
Friend  of  the  Upper  Region,  these  are  Spirits  and  cannot 
die  :  they  have  only  disappeared  for  a  little  while  :  by 
and  by  the  old  Meeting-house  shall  disgorge  them. 

Mankind  is  a  wondrous  thing,  not  to  be  understood  ; 
each  one  of  these  Dwellers  in  Pebblebrook  has  self-will 
enough,  and  is  bent  on  some  life-way  of  his  own ;  but 
each  one  also,  by  bonds  for  the  most  part  invisible,  is 
bound  to  all.  Since  that  day  when  discontented  Peter 
Stout  led  his  little  troop  hither  to  squat  and  tame 
the  Wilderness,  all  the  Dwellers  in  Pebblebrook  have, 
every  Seventh  Day,  without  visible  communication  with 
each  other,  started  forth  at  the  same  hour  and  congrega 
ted  in  one  place ;  to  listen  there  in  deepest  silence  to  the 
Speech  of  One,  the  ordained  Speaker  of  the  flock. 


S  T7  N  P  A  Y  ,  139 

Fault-finding  men  may  say  what  they  will  of  Sunday : 
innumerable  blessings,  of  one  kind  and  another,  wait  on 
it ;  we  will  mention  here  only  one  ;  this,  namely,  the 
blessing  of  Silence.  For  one  whole  hour  there  is  Silence 
among  the  Wakeful.  If  Speech  be  only  silvern  while 
Silence  is  golden  it  is  surely  a  great  hour  this  same. — 
Yonder  Windmill,  which  on  week-days  gives  out  so  many 
grists,  does  not  grind  To-day  :  it  stands  there  just  north 
of  the  village  common,  quite  idle  from  Saturday  night  to 
Monday  morning  ;  but,  meanwhile,  corn  grows  and  ripens. 
I  would  bet  (if  'twere  not  Sunday)  that  in  each  one  of 
the  many  heads  within  that  old  Meeting-house  some  kind 
of  corn  is  a-growing,  and  that  some  part  thereof  will  have 
time  to  ripen  before  it  is  ground :  for  in  each  head  the 
little  windmill  is  still.  Say  not,  my  Friend,  by  way  of  ob 
jection,  that  one  windmill  does  go  there  :  that  is  the  very 
condition  on  which  all  others  are  still  :  every  thing  in 
this  world  takes  place,  and  keeps  place,  on  some  condi 
tion.  The  Preacher  who  stands  in  that  Pulpit  is  there 
on  some  one  condition,  or  on  many  :  let  him  look  to  that 
matter  :  it  is  of  some  moment  to  himself  and  to  others. 

Now  while  we  are  up  here,  and  the  Spirits  below  have 
hid  their  bodies  from  our  sight,  let  us  shut  our  eyes  on  all 
that  is  immediately  under  our  nose  and  look  abroad. 
We  will  leave  this  little  day-light  and  go  away,  on  such 
wings  as  we  can  get,  toward  yonder  great  Lamp  which  is 
the  Source  of  Light,  and  get  into  something  like  Eternal 
Day. — Light  of  heart,  joyous  of  spirit,  we  are  off,  up,  and 
away. — Now  we  are  here  which  is  —  where  ? — Our  present 
point  of  view  cannot  be  described  :  it  is  slate  of  Being, 
not  a.  place.  Let  us,  however,  not  knowing  where  we  are, 
look  out  with  our  Spiritual  Eye  keeping  our  eyes  of  the 
Senses  close  shut  the  while  :  these  last  are  well  enough 


140  PEBBLEBROOK. 

for  certain  every-day  purposes,  but  one  who  has  no  other 
means  of  seeing  is,  to  say  the  least,  no  Swedenborgian. 
How  that  little  thing  called  Earth  whirls  round  and 
round  !  not  precisely  once  in  twenty-four  hours,  but 
quicker  or  slower  as  you  will  have  it ;  for  Time  here  is 
not  the  same  as  Time  there  :  where  is  Day  and  Night  ? 
We  are  almost  beyond  Time  —  but  can  see  a  little  of  it 
down  there  on  that  Globe  ;  on  one  side  of  which  is  com 
ing  on  what  the  inhabitants  call  Night.  See  !  as  the 
clothed  Bipeds  find  themselves  in  the  shadow  of  their 
Earth  how  they  kindle  tiny  tapers  and  strive  to  keep 
awake  and  at  work  :  —  it  wont  do  :  they  yawn,  their  eye 
lids  are  heavy  ;  they  are  beginning  to  strip  themselves 
and  creep  under  coverlids.  I  declare  it  is  a  strange 
sight ;  some  millions  on  that  side  are  stretched  out  hori 
zontally,  and,  to  all  appearance,  are  quite  unconscious  of 
existence  :  they  have  fallen  into  a  mimic  Death. 

On  the  opposite  side,  at  the  same  instant,  the  counter 
part,  as  we  can  see,  is  going  on.  Creatures  of  the  same 
kind  are  yawning,  rubbing  their  eyes,  and  trying  to  get 
awake  again.  Strange  enough  :  we,  looking  through  the 
roofs  of  their  dwelling-places,  can  see  them  all  so  busy 
making  themselves  fit  to  be  seen.  It  is  quite  wonderful  : 
I  don't  know  what  to  make  of  it ;  a  little  while  ago  these 
creatures  were,  so  far  as  I  could  see,  pretty  much  alike ; 
but  now  when  they  are  all  dressed  —  what  a  difference  ! 
That  one  who  has  put  on  purple  robes  is  King,  and  all 
men  bend  the  knee  to  him :  that  one  in  tattered  jacket  is 
Beggar,  and  none  so  poor  as  do  him  reverence.  There, 
one,  who  has  hung  silk  and  satins  about  herself  is  Lady  : 
and  here  one  who  wears  faded  cheek  is  Washerwoman, 
and  cannot  for  the  life  of  her  be  aught  else.  Oh  Outside, 


SUNDAY 


141 


Outside!  thou  art  Prince  of  To-day  but  must  vanish  To 
night. 

All  this  I  say  is  wonderful  enough :  but  how  much 
more  wonderful,  awful,  is  that  other  sleeping  and  waking  ; 
that  coming  into  Life,  that  going  out  of  it.  From  the  un 
known  depths  of  hidden  Being  comes,  mysteriously,  the 
puny  Infant,  and  waxes  into  Manhood  :  then  wanes  to 
Dotage,  and  sinks  again  to  that  unknown  infinite  Deep. 
Verily  the  Appearance,  called  an  Individual,  has  begin 
ning  and  end ;  but  the  Reality,  which  is  not  individual, 
has  neither. 

But  let  us  descend,  softly  as  we  can,  to  our  Pebble- 
brook  hill  again  ;  for  our  business,  after  all  upper-region 
views,  is  here  in  the  midst  of  Human  Life  :  and  we 
should  go  aloft  only,  as  the  Mariner  does,  to  get  above 
the  fog  and  see  how  the  land  lies,  so  that  we  may  shape 
our  course  accordingly. — Lo,  the  old  meeting-house,  as  I 
prophesied,  (for  I  have  seen  such  events  before  now)  is 
disgorging ;  and  all  fields  and  highways  are  alive  again. 
These  creatures,  who  have  been  quite  silent  an  hour  or 
more,  are  now  all  chattering  and  flitting  homeward.  —  It 
is  high  noon  of  day,  and  ruminating  animals  lie  in  shady 
places  chewing  the  cud.  I  must  go  down  to  dinner  :  no 
need  to  complain  of  that.  Eating  is  absolutely  necessary  : 
it  is  the  condition  on  which  soul  and  body  are  kept  to 
gether  :  let  us  all  submit  cheerfully  to  Necessity  and  be 
thankful  for  Existence  even  with  that  condition,  and 
worse,  annexed  to  it.  I  must  go  down  to  dinner. 

At  table,  Harriet  asked  me  why  1  had  not  been  to 
church :  said  that  a  stranger  preached  :  a  beautiful 
preacher,  and  added  that  she  hoped  he  would  preach 
again  in  the  afternoon. 

I  answered,  that  I  did  not  go  to  church  because  I  had 


142  PEBBLEBEOOK. 

preferred  a  walk  on  the  hill-side ;  and  then  asked  Amelia 
how  she  had  liked  the  minister. 

"  Right  well  "  she  replied  "  though  I  can  remember 
little  that  he  said  :  I  mean  that  I  cannot  repeat  any  part 
of  his  sermon  :  but  I  feel  that  I  have  got  something 
good.  His  text  was  '  God  is  a  Spirit ;  and  they  that  wor 
ship  him  must  worship  him  in  Spirit  and  in  Truth.'  " 

Uncle  John  said,  "  I  have  that  same  feeling  about  the 
sermon.  1  do  not  recollect  any  particular  passages  be 
cause  I  listened  so  intently  to  every  part  of  it :  the 
whole  seems  to  be  with  me ;  not  in  the  words  in  which  it 
was  uttered,  but  in  substance.  It  was  not  a  logical  ser 
mon,  addressed  to  the  understanding ;  having  effect  only 
because  of  its  skillful  arrangement  of  words.  Its  truths 
were  Eternal  and  Universal,  nowise  dependent  on  a 
preceding  if,  nor  yet  on  arguments  of  any  kind." 

"  I  had  almost  concluded,"  said  Amelia,  "  that  the  im- 
pressiveness  of  the  sermon  was  owing  to  the  preacher's 
manner.  If  another  person  had  spoken  this  sermon,  it 
had,  perhaps,  been  a  quite  different  thing  in  effect." 

"  You  are  partly  right,  Amelia  :  I  think,  however,  it 
was  the  Man  who  made  the  words  impressive,  and  not  his 
manner.  This  whole  sermon,  and  much  more,  was  in 
him  :  it  came  out  of  him  ;  not  out  of  his  mouth  merely, 
nor  out  of  his  head  ;  but  out  of  his  heart,  out  of  his  Life. 
A  joke  from  a  true  man  is  of  more  worth  than  the  studied 
sermon  of  a  false  one." 

"  I  believe  that  is  true  :  "  she  replied  :  ''  sometimes  I 
meet  persons  in  society  who  say  or  do  little  that  is  re 
markable,  and  yet,  somehow,  virtue  seems  to  go  out  of 
them ;  I  feel  better  for  their  presence.  At  other  times, 
I  meet  those  who  utter  words  which  every  body  says  are 
good,  and  still  I  feel  as  though  an  evil  spirit  was  round 
about  me.  I  don't  know  how  it  is." 


SU  N  D  A  V.  143 

"  Perhaps,"  said  1,  "  it  is  just  as  you  say  ;  in  the  one 
case  a  bad  spirit  is  before  you,  and  in  the  other,  a  good 
one." 

"  Yes,"  added  my  Uncle,  "  that  is  it  :  only  I  would  say 
True  and  False,  instead  of  good  and  bad." 

I  went  to  church  in  the  afternoon  desirous  of  hearing 
this  preacher.  I  was  however  disappointed.  The  minis 
ter  of  Natook  was  in  the  pulpit:  a  young  man  lately  or 
dained  there  as  Spiritual  Teacher.  He  had  come  from 
the  Theological  school  with  high  reputation ;  which  no 
doubt  he  deserved ;  for  his  memory  seemed  well  stored 
with  the  thoughts  of  his  teachers.  How  many  young 
men  come  from  these  schools  mere  theological  dupli 
cates  1  —  His  sermon  contained  an  enumeration  of  the  at 
tributes  of  God  !  some  statements  of  the  advantages  of  a 
good  life  in  this  present  world,  and  much  declamation 
and  logic  about  the  rewards  of  the  righteous,  and  the 
punishments  of  the  wicked,  in  another  future  world  :  in 
short,  it  was  a  kind  of  Trial  Balance  of  man's  life,  show 
ing  how  well  the  moral  Profit-and-Loss  account  of  this 
world  looks  with  a  balance  on  the  right  side,  and  how 
advisable  it  is  to  get  a  good  Contingent  Fund  in  store 
against  Hereafter. 

As  we  walked  homeward,  my  Uncle  said:  "Well 
Amelia  you  have  no  difficulty  in  recollecting  this  sermon 
I  suppose." 

"  No,  I  can  recollect  all  that  I  heard  :  my  thoughts 
strayed  now  and  then  and  I  lost  some  parts." 

"  The  sermon  was  itself,"  said  I,  "  recollection,  noth 
ing  but  recollection  from  beginning  to  end." 

"  A  synopsis  of  this  discourse,"  said  my  Uncle,  "  might 
run  thus  :  God  has  certain  attributes ;  perfect  justice, 


144  PEBBLEBROOK. 

Omnipresence,  Omniscience  :  he  knows  all,  he  can  do 
all ;  and,  being  perfectly  just,  he  must  punish  vice,  and 
reward  virtue.  This  is  done  to  a  certain  extent  here  on 
Earth,  therefore  it  is,  even  here,  for  the  advantage  of 
every  human  being  to  be  virtuous.  But  somehow  it  hap 
pens  that  the  retribution  in  this  world  is  not  complete : 
the  Wicked  do  sometimes  flourish  :  therefore  there  must 
be  future  rewards  and  punishments  ;  and  therefore  it  will 
be  ultimately  for  the  advantage  of  every  man  and  woman 
to  lead  a  good  life  here  below.  —  Such  means  of  regene 
rating  the  human  race  must  move  one  to  laughter  or  to 
tears.  Much  of  this  visible  evil,  about  which  there  is  so 
much  talk,  seems  to  me  to  be  only  the  manure  of  the 
spiritual  field." 

"  Don't  talk  so,  John,"  said  my  Aunt.  "  Let  preachers 
do  all  they  can,  there  will  be  sin  enough  in  the  world  ; 
and  I  don't  believe  any  good  can  come  of  speaking  so 
about  sin  before  young  people." 

"  Why,  Sister,  if  young  folks  can  believe  that  Evil  is 
manure,  and  yet  desire  to  be  altogether  evil,  let  them: 
they  will  not,"  he  continued  laughing,  "  be  altogether 
lovely.  —  What  has  become  of  Harriet  ?  " 

We  looked  back  and  saw  her  walking  with  a  young 
man.  "  Oh,  I  see ;  he  continued,  "  James  Brinton  is 
with  her.  How  is  it  that  she  always  walks  slowly  when 
with  him,  and  speaks  in  a  low  voice?  They  have  turned 
into  the  other  path  :  I'll  bet  she'll  not  be  at  home  this 
half-hour  or  more." 

"  Hillo,  Uncle  John,"  cried  a  voice  from  a  field  on 
our  right.  We  looked  in  that  direction  and  saw  a  young 
man  in  a  sailor's  dress,  who,  placing  his  left  hand  on  the 
topmost  rail  of  a  fence,  threw  himself  lightly  over  and 
hastened  toward  us. 


SUNDAY, 


145 


"I  declare,  'tis  cousin  Harry,"  cried  Amelia.  He 
came  briskly  up,  and  when  Amelia  offered  him  her  hand 
he  attempted  a  kiss  of  her  lips. 

"  Not  quite  so  fast,  Jack  Tar,"  she  said,  "  we  were 
close  friends  once,  but  you  have  become  a  stranger  of  late, 
and  forfeited  your  privileges." 

"Just  as  you  like,  Coz:  you  girls  will  have  your 
way.  Aunt,  how  do  you  1  As  you  have  arrived  at  years 
of  discretion  I  hope  you'll  not  be  so  shy  as  Miss  Prim." 
He  gave  the  old  lady  a  hearty  kiss,  and  then,  swinging 
himself  round,  offered  one  hand  to  Uncle  John  and  the 
other  to  me.  There  were  many  inquiries  on  both  sides, 
and  answers  more  or  less  satisfactory,  till  he,  with  a  half- 
laugh,  asked : 

"How  is  Deacon  Snow,  now-a-days  ?  " 

"  His  daughter  is  pretty  well ;  but  she  is  — 

(t  I'll  be  damned  if  I  care  if  she  is." 

"  I  was  about  to  say,"  resumed  Uncle  John,  "  that  she 
is  not  married  yet." 

"  It  is  all  one  to  me  so  long  as  old  Longface  is  alive. 
Getting  round  him  to  come  at  his  daughter  is  some 
thing  worse  than  doubling  the  Cape  to  get  at  spicy 
India." 

The  talk  ran  out  in  all  directions  as  is  usual  when  old 
friends  meet  after  long  separation.  We  spoke  of  events 
which  had  occurred  in  Pebblebrook,  and  in  the  Harding 
family  elsewhere,  during  Harry's  absence ;  and  as  sad 
things,  and  glad  ones,  floated  by  on  the  stream  of  Talk, 
gaiety  and  seriousness  alternated  in  the  little  circle. 
We  had  been  seated  within  doors  an  hour  or  more  before 
Harriet  appeared.  After  shaking  of  hands,  and  kind  in 
quiries,  she  said : 

13 


n* 

146  PEBBLEBROOK. 


"  Well,  how  do  you  like  the  forecastle  now  ?  Better 
than  you  did  on  your  first  voyage  ?  " 

"  I've  got  out  of  that  Dogs-hole,"  he  answered,  "  our 
second  mate  died  in  India,  and  I  was  promoted  to  fill  his 
place.  If  a  man  will  take  the  lowest  station  in  this  world, 
and  do  his  duty  there,  he  is  pretty  sure  to  rise :  in  fact,  if 
he  go  any  way  he  must  go  up  ;  he  cannot  go  down.  One 
stands  so  firmly  in  these  low  places  :  no  danger  of  falling 
when  one  is  on  the  bottom." 

"  Why,  Harry,"  said  I,  "  you  have  become  quite  a  phi 
losopher,  I  perceive." 

"  Yes,  having  been  introduced  to  realities.  I  did  not 
get  much  from  the  philosophy  books  in  College,  you 
know." 

After  tea,  the  sailor  had  a  little  conference  with  the 
girls,  and  they  walked  out  together. 


COUSIN    HABRY.  147 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


COUSIN     HA  RE Y . 

MY  Cousin  Harry,  who  jumped  over  the  fence  in  the 
last  Chapter,  and  wanted  to  kiss  Amelia,  has  jumped  over 
many  fences  and  actually  kissed  things  not  quite  so  pure 
as  Amelia :  nevertheless  he  is  alive,  and  joined  us,  this 
next  morning  at  the  breakfast-table,  in  high  spirits. 

The  preceding  evening  he  had,  by  assistance  of  Amelia 
and  Harriet,  a  meeting  with  the  Deacon's  daughter,  and 
found  her  kind  as  ever,  spite  of  all  her  father's  hindran 
ces  and  opposition :  indeed,  perhaps,  all  the  kinder  for 
that ;  for  Love  in  young  hearts  is  like  running  water, 
which  may  be  staid  awhile  by  some  hard  rock,  but  at  last 
it  rises,  over-tops  the  obstacle,  and  then  rushes  on  its  way 
more  rapidly  than  before.  Many  restraints  have  been 
imposed  on  these  young  people ;  nevertheless,  they  will 
probably  have  their  own  way  at  last. 

Solomon  the  wise  man  of  old,  said,  —  and  by  means  of 
that  wondrous  Book,  keeps  saying  —  "  Train  up  a  child 
in  the  way  he  should  go,  and  when  he  is  old,  he  shall  not 
depart  from  it."  All  Jewrydom  and  Christendom  have 
echoed  the  saying,  for  it  touches  a  matter  of  universal  in 
terest.  Solomon  had  a  plurality  of  wives,  indeed  a  mul 
titude  of  one  kind  and  another ;  surely  then,  much  ex- 


PEBBLEBROOK. 

perience  in  the  art  of  training :  his  words  should  not  be 
despised.  There  is,  however,  this  most  important  ques 
tion  connected  with  Solomon's  saying  :  What  is  the  way 
a  child  should  go  1  The  answer  to  which,  is  as  the  sound 
from  the  Tower  of  Babel.  Through  all  the  din  of  words, 
how  distinctly  is  this  one  thing  heard  :  My  way  is  the 
right  way,  My  way  is  the  right  way. 

Somebody  said,  yesterday  ;  No  man  can  be  sure,  that 
he  has  actually  seen  the  absurdest  mortal  living  :  and  I, 
Frank  Harding,  say,  to-day  :  No  man  can  know,  that 
himself  is  the  greatest  of  Ninnies.  Be  sure  of  it !  He 
cannot  even  surmise  it,  but  must  rather  feel  quite  certain, 
that  there  are  very  many  greater  fools  than  he  :  so  each 
one  of  us  walks  comfortably  about,  and  holds  his  head  up 
in  his  ignorance,  which,  as  Sancho  said  of  Sleep,  covers 
one  all  over  like  a  cloak.  Blessed  be  Ignorance  !  It 
has  brought  forth  many  things  ;  it  shall  bring  forth  many 
more  :  for,  in  the  fact  that  we  do  not  know,  how  much  lies  ; 
our  Hopes,  our  Fears,  our  B'aith :  much  comes  from  Ig 
norance.  I  have  thought  it  my  duty,  in  this  excessively 
knowing  age,  to  pronounce  a  blessing  on  Ignorance  :  but 
a  blessing  on  Error,  no  man  can  think  it  his  duty  to  pro 
nounce  ;  one  would  rather  curse  it.  Error  lies  in  sup 
posing  we  know  when  we  do  not  know,  in  believing  that 
we  are  not  ignorant. 

What  is  the  way  a  child  should  go  up  to  manhood  ? 
No  man  can  know,  for  each  child  is  by  its  nature  origi 
nal  ;  like,  yet  unlike  every  other.  Perhaps  the  truest 
wisdom  were  to  assist  each  one  to  go  wisely  on  his  own 
way.  A  thing  which  has  the  principle  of  growth,  which 
has  Life  in  it,  must  unfold  itself,  under  more  or  less 
favorable  influences,  in  its  own  way.  A  Shantee  any 
man  may  build,  who  has  fitting  tools  ;  but  a  Tree  which 


COUSIN    HARKY.  149 

has  life,  though  only  of  the  vegetable  kind,  no  man  can 
build  were  he  ever  so  skillful  :  much  less  can  a  Living 
Soul  be  built  up  by  man's  devices. 

Now  my  Cousin  Harry's  father,  (whose  name  is  Abra 
ham,)  did  not  ( as  I  think,)  go  wisely  to  work  with  his  son.  Not 
only  would  he  not  let  him  him  run  wild,  in  which  he  was 
partly  right ;  but  he  would  not  let  him  run  at  all,  in  which 
he  was  altogether  wrong.  The  boy  should  walk  in  life, 
just  as  he,  the  old  man,  walked:  and  even,  figuratively 
speaking,  the  child  should  use  crutches  of  one  kind  and  an 
other  as  he  did.  The  boy  was  active,  bold,  full  of  life  ;  and 
one  can  think  how  he  cried  out  against  these  fetters  and 
crutches.  His  mother  died  when  he  was  six  years  old. 
Had  she  lived  longer,  it  had  probably  been  well  for  him, 
for  the  spirit  of  her  life  was  a  good  influence  around  him, 
and  he  lived  in  it,  as  a  plant  lives  in  pure  air,  imbibing 
nourishment;  unconsciously.  But  she  could  not  live  longer  ; 
she  was  called  and  must  go,  leaving  this  boy  to  fare  as  he 
could.  He  did  not  fare  very  well,  and  the  day  on  which 
he  left  his  home  to  enter  College,  was  a  joyful  one.  That 
too-strict  home  was  as  a  prison-house,  from  which  he 
bounded  away  all  unused  to  freedom,  and  so  all  unfitted 
for  it.  Harry  led  a  wild  life  in  College  :  he  was  censured 
by  his  guardians  there,  and  scolded  by  his  father.  He 
broke  out  at  last  into  open  rebellion  ;  cast  off  all  fetters, 
leaped  all  fences,  and  like  a  young  colt  ran  loose  in  the 
wilderness  of  life.  Soon,  however,  he  found  himself  in 
want  of  provender,  and  began  to  look  about  him,  and 
think  (being  a  two-legged  human  colt,)  of  ways  and 
means.  This  wild  young  man  could  not  steal ;  he  was, 
though  not  very  respectable,  mainly  honest,  and  would 
earn  his  living :  he  entered  a  merchant  ship  as  common 
sailor.  Here  one  may  remark  a  curious  fact,  certainly  an 
13* 


PEBBLES  ROOK. 

instructive  one  ;  this,  namely  ;  that  even  the  wildest  man 
will  submit  to  restraints,  provided  they  be  of  his  own 
choosing.  Such  restraints,  of  one's  own  choosing,  are 
ever  beneficial,  and  such  every  man  must  have.  So  this 
young  man,  whose  whole  life  had  been  a  struggle  for 
freedom,  now,  when  freed  from  fetters  which  others  im 
pose,  submitted  cheerfully  to  the  arbitrary  powers  which 
rule  a  ship.  Since  that  day,  his  way  in  life  has  been  a 
plainer  one,  and  he  is  going  onward  to  some  end  ;  most 
likely  to  the  right  one  for  him. 

Before  he  left  the  breakfast  table,  my  Aunt  asked  him, 
if  he  had  seen  his  father  since  he  came  on  shore?  "Yes," 
he  replied,  "  I  staid  a  week  with  him  :  we  are  pretty  good 
friends  now  ;  indeed,  I  believe  father  meant  well  enough 
all  along  ;  but  I  had  a  Devil  in  me,  and  — in  short,  father 
and  I  couldn't  agree  :  —  our  agreement  now,  is  only  to 
disagree  peaceably." 

"But  how  did  you  get  together?"  I  asked.  "Oh 
very  much  as  two  ships  at  sea  meet  in  time  of  war.  When 
we  came  in  sight  of  each  other,  there  was  some  reco- 
noitering  on  both  sides ;  for  a  long  time  no  shewing  of 
colors ;  at  last  each  discovered  that  the  other  was  not 
armed  for  battle,  and  then  we  hove-to  and  exchanged  a 
kind  of  gruff  civility." 

"  I  have  heard,  Harry,"  said  one  of  the  girls,  "  that 
when  ships  stop  at  sea  in  that  way,  one  of  the  two  is 
usually  in  want  of  provisions  —  was  that  your  case?  " 

"  Not  at  all,  Miss  Pert ;  though  I  believe  father  thought 
so,  for  before  I  left  him,  he  offered  assistance.  I  said, 
'  No,  I  can  victual  my  own  ship  at  present.'  But  by 
Heaven,  it  made  my  heart  leap  to  him,  when  he  shewed 
such  kindness.  I  shall  not  forget  it  soon." 


COUSIN     HARRY.  151 

"  Why  not,"  said  I,  "  why  not  stay  at  home  now  ? 
Your  father  is  rich,  and  there  is  no  need  of  wearing  your 
life  out  on  the  Ocean." 

"  I'll  tell  you  why  not,  Frank ;  there  is  something  in 
me —  call  it  pride  if  you  will  j  but  something  that  forces 
me  to  keep  on,  and  shew  my  father  and  others,  that  1 
can  make  my  own  way  in  the  world,  and  go  through  with 
out  their  assistance." 

Uncle  John  laughed,  and  said,  "  So,  you  scape-grace, 
you  have  a  mind  to  be  a  preacher,  I  see :  but  you  will 
preach  in  deed,  and  on  such  sermons  all  others  are  found 
ed  ;  or  should  be." 

We  rose  from  table,  and  the  busy  ones  went  their  sev 
eral  ways.  Harry  and  I  had  to  devise  means  of  spend 
ing  the  day  ;  for,  unfortunately,  we  had  no  work  to  per 
form;  I  have  often  felt  the  misery  of  not  knowing  what 
to  do  with  myself,  of  having1  no  object  before  me,  and  am 
certain  that  no  men  on  earth  are  so  wretched  as  men  of 
leisure.  See  one  of  these  rise  in  the  morning  :  it  is  a 
pleasant  day  ;  shall  he  walk,  or  ride?  Shall  he  visit 
this  place  of  amusement  or  that  ?  How  shall  he  squan 
der  this  pleasant  day  ?  —  With  good  powers  of  digesting 
victuals,  a  man  of  leisure  may  endure  much,  if  the 
weather  be  pleasant ;  but  if  it  be  not  —  Oh,  horrible  \ 

Fortunately,  the  sailor  had  not  been  long  on  shore,  and 
so  had  not  become  weary  of  doing  nothing :  he  was, 
moreover,  not  of  the  kind  who  eat  into  themselves 

"  for  lack 

Of  something  else  to  hew  and  hack," 

and  he  proposed  a  ride.  We  were  soon  mounted  and 
rode  away  toward  the  hills.  On  the  outskirts  of  the  vil 
lage  we  met  a  Pedlar,  with  a  dirty  looking  one-horse 
wagon.  The  Pedlar  himself,  rather  shabbily  dressed  in 


152  PEBBLEBROOK. 

second-hand  clothes,  with  a  yellow  cravat,  sat  on  the 
front  of  his  covered  wagon.  Over  his  head,  supported 
by  a  slender  frame-work,  was  a  well  polished  mahogany 
sign-board,  on  which,  in  letters  of  gold,  were  these  words  : 
"  Splendid  New  Goods  Received  This  Morning,"  and  on 
the  back  of  his  wagon,  as  we  noticed  afterwards,  was 
another  inscription,  "  Auction  Goods,  Cheap  For  Cash." 

We  drew  rein,  and  the  sailor  called  on  him  to  "  heave- 
to."  He  obeyed,  nothing  loth,  being  ready  for  trade. 
We  rummaged  among  his  store  of  showy,  flimsy,  tinsel 
articles,  and  found  some  India  Goods  of  the  poorest  kind. 
Among  the  best,  however,  were  some  fans,  and  Harry 
asked  the  price.  The  Pedlar  named  it,  and  asserted,  that 
it  was  less  than  the  first  cost  in  India.  The  other  laughed 
aloud,  and  the  Pedlar  said,  "  What  I  tell  you  is  true  ;  my 
goods  were  bought  at  auction.  I  would'nt  tell  a  lie  for 
five  hundred  dollars." 

"  Oh,  most  exorbitant  man,"  cried  Harry,  "  five  hun- 
dred  dollars  for  a  lie  !  I  will  tell  scores  of  lies  for  two  hun 
dred  and  fifty  dollars  a-piece :  I  wish  I  could  have  that 
price  for  all  I  have  told  —  how  rich  I  would  be!  — 
Splendid  new  goods  received  this  morning  I  Where,  in 
the  Devil's  name  did  you  get  goods  this  morning  ?  " 

The  Pedlar  seemed  somewhat  crest-fallen,  and  mut 
tered  something  about  having  put  the  sign  up  some  days 
ago.  Harry  took  two  or  three  articles,  and  when  he  paid 
for  them,  said:  "Ask  what  you  please  for  your  goods, 
and  say,  if  you  will,  the  price  is  less  than  cost ;  but  don't 
affirm  that  you  will  not  tell  a  lie  for  five  hundred  dollars  : 
that  is  too  tough :  the  world  is  wiser  than  it  was  when 
you  were  a  boy." 

We  rode  on  our  way,  talking  of  the  many  kinds  of 
cheating  :  the  sailor  said  things  about  professions  of  mo- 


COUSIN     HARRY.  153 

rality  and  religion,  which  1,  in  the  present  sickly  state  of 
society,  do  not  care  to  repeat.  We  ascended  the  hill  by 
a  road  winding  round  it,  in  what  Harry  called  cork-screw 
fashion  :  and,  when  near  its  summit,  we  turned  off  into  a 
foot-path,  which  led  us  to  a  pleasant  little  water-fall.  We 
dismounted  and  seated  ourselves  at  its  foot.  The  sound 
of  falling  water,  and  of  wind  among  trees,  mingling  har 
moniously,  is  a  great  one  ;  solemn,  yet  cheerful  and  in- 
spirating.  How  the  vast  forest  heaves  to  and  fro  and  seems 
to  be  alive,  every  leaf  trembling.  Truly  Nature  is  alive. 
There  is  the  wide-spread,  unceasing  circulation  of  waters, 
and  the  breath  of  winds,  and  the  ever-heaving  Ocean. 
Over  head  white-looking  clouds  chase  each  other  across 
the  blue  firmament,  and  from  above  the  Eternal  Sun  looks 
down,  and  the  light  of  his  countenance  illumines  the 
Earth.  When  this  near  Sun,  which  is  the  light  of  this 
little  Day  of  Life,  is  withdrawn,  lo,  a  thousand  Suns ! 
Verily  there  are  more  things  in  Heaven  and  Earth  than  ' 
we  dream  of.  This  Earth,  too,  which  we  trample  care 
lessly  under  foot,  buds  and  sprouts  and  makes  itself  green ; 
it  blossoms  and  yields  fruit ;  and  then  it  withers,  fades, 
decays  :  and  this  we  call  Death  ;  but  what  is  Death? 

"  This  place,"  I  said  to  my  companion,  "  is  well  known 
to  me  :  it  seems  but  yesterday  that  I  was  here  before,  so 
little  is  it  changed  ;  yet  it  is  some  twenty  years  since.  One 
summer-day  I  came  hither  with  a  little  party,  and  while 
my  companions  were  bathing  in  the  basin  at  the  foot  of 
the  fall,  I  clambered  up  on  this  side  holding  by  the  bushes, 
but  finding  little  foot-hold.  When  near  the  top,  where 
as  you  see  there  is  no  vegetation,  a  point  of  rock,  on 
which  I  had  placed  my  foot,  gave  way  ;  but  I  held  by  my 
hands  to  a  little  projection  above.  I  thought  of  a  fall  and 
looked  downward  :  the  view  frightened  me ;  my  hold  re- 


154  PEBBLEBROOK. 

laxed  and  I  fell.  I  came  rolling  and  plunging  among 
those  bushes,  catching  by  one  hand  and  another,  but  as 
often  loosing  hold.  I  reached  the  bottom  insensible  ;  was 
taken  up  by  my  companions  who  brought  water,  bathed 
my  face  and  head,  and  I  partly  recovered  my  conscious 
ness.  I  was  placed  in  a  wagon  and  carried  home,  where 
I  remained  many  days  in  a  dangerous  state  ;  but,  as  you 
see,  I  did  not  die.  The  boys  bathing  stood  frightened  at 
my  ascent,  more  so  at  my  descent,  and  thought  themselves 
safe ;  but  they  caught  cold  ;  two  had  fevers,  and  one  died. 
We  talk  much  about  danger  and  safety,  but  know  very 
little.  It  was  said  that  I  came  near  losing  my  life 
that  day  :  it  is  however  certain  that  I  am  nearer  lossing 
it  now."  Harry  looked  round,  and  then  at  me.  "  1 
mean  that  I  am  nearer  death  to-day  by  twenty-five  years 
than  I  was  that  day.  I  have  however  been  less  dis 
posed  to  climb  since." 

"  Every  man,"  said  Harry,  "  is  afraid  of  something :  I 
am  afraid  to  bathe  m  salt  water.  Some  two  years  ago, 
when  on  the  coast  of  Africa,  I  was  bathing  one  Sunday 
with  three  of  the  ship's  crew  ;  the  mate,  who  had  advised 
us  not  to  go  into  the  water,  stood  in  the  main  shrouds. 
Two  of  the  bathers  had  returned  to  the  ship  and  were  in 
the  boat  alongside  dressing,  when  the  mate  cried  :  '  look 
out  there  !  a  shark,  a  shark  !'  I  struck  out  for  the  ship 
which  was  some  sixty  yards  distant :  the  other  sailor  was 
about  eight  or  ten  feet  on  my  right.  My  feelings  were 
horrible  ;  and  though  I  knew  my  life  depended  on  swim 
ming  vigorously  forward,  yet  I  felt  an  irresistible  desire  to 
look  behind  me.  I  turned  my  head  partly  round,  but 
there  was  a  cry  from  the  ship,  '  don't  look,  strike  out,  strike 
out;  swim  away.'  I  did  so,  swimming  with  all  my  might. 
Presently  the  mate  cried  out '  God  !  he  has  got  him.'  At 


COUSIN    HARRY.  155 

that  moment  I  felt  as  though  severed  in  two,  and  my 
lower  limbs  dropped  powerless.  In  an  instant,  however, 
strength  came  again,  and  I  turned  my  head  toward  my 
companion  :  he  was  striking  convulsively  with  his  hands 
upon  the  water,  and  his  face — Good  God,  I  shall  never 
forget  that  look.  I  turned  shuddering  away  and  kept  on 
my  course.  The  two  sailors  in  the  boat  had  pushed  off 
from  the  ship  and  soon  took  me  from  the  water.  We 
looked  round  for  our  shipmate :  his  blood  colored  the  wa 
ter  but  he  had  disappeared.  Since  that  day  I  have  seldom 
bathed  in  the  sea  ;  indeed,  never  except  in  places  deemed 
safe.  One  would  be  willing  to  be  drowned,  or  even  to  be 
shot,  but  to  be  bitten  in  two  by  a  shark  is  dreadful." 

I  agreed  with  him  that  it  is  desirable  to  die  in  a  common 
decent  way,  and  the  talk  rambled  to  various  matters. 
Two  birds  in  some  bushes  near  us  hopped  about  and  sang 
sweet  songs.  I  asked  Harry  if  his  walk  the  preceding 
evening  had  been  a  pleasant  one.  He  answered  in  the 
affirmative  ;  and  went  on  telling  me  how  kind  Amelia  had 
been  in  assisting  him  to  an  interview  with  the  Deacon's 
daughter. 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  "  she  is  a  good  girl ;  her  wish  is  always 
to  gratify  the  wishes  of  others.  The  strange  thing  is  that 
she  will  help  others  forward  on  a  way  which  is  not  her 
Own.  I  have  been  sometimes  astonished,  often  amused 
by  her  doings.  Such  books  as  one  wants  she  will  get  for 
him  even  though  they  be  not  such  as  she  likes  :  she  came 
home  a  few  days  since  with  a  volume  of  Sermons,  and  a 
work  of  Voltaire's  ;  the  one  for  Uncle  John  and  the  other 
for  her  mother  ;  and  so  is  it  with  the  pursuits  and  wishes 
of  all  around  her  ;  she  will  help  each  one  on  his  way,  pro 
vided  it  be  not  a  disgusting  way  :  yet  she  has  her  own  be 
lief  in  regard  to  all  things,  and  does  not  hesitate  to  ex- 


156  PEBBLEBROOK. 

press  it  when  called  to  do  so.     She  has,  however,  some 
faults  —  " 

"  The  Devil  take  her  faults,"  cried  Harry,  "  I  don't 
want  to  hear  about  them  :  —  You  mean,  I  suppose,  that 
she  does  some  things  which  you  do  not  approve  of,  and  I 
am  glad  of  it.  I  don't  like  people  who  are  quite  faultless  ; 
they  are  too  often  lifeless." 

I  looked  at  my  watch  and  said,  —  but  I  cannot  believe 
it  to  be  my  duty  to  print  all  the  talk  uttered  by  myself 
and  others  during  this  visit  to  Pebblebrook. 

Chief  Justice  Marshall,  a  much-enduring  man,  once 
felt  himself  constrained  to  say  to  an  advocate  at  the  bar, 
"  Sir,  there  are  some  things  which  this  Court  may  be  sup 
posed  to  know."  Now  did  the  Members  of  the  Harding 
family  go  about  stark  naked,  or  even  button  their  coats 
behind ;  did  they  live  without  eating,  or  even  eat  by 
proxy  ;  I  should  think  it  my  duty  to  mention  such  facts  : 
but  the  family  is  meat-eating,  liquor-drinking,  clothes- 
wearing  like  other  families  ;  and,  with  a  conscience  void 
of  offence,  I,  for  the  most  part,  abstain  from  speaking  of 
many  particulars  included  under  these  most  prolific 
heads.  One  fact,  however  —  a  most  remarkable  one  — 
I  do  think  it  my  duty  to  publish ;  this,  namely :  Uncle 
John  often  walks  the  streets  in  broad  daylight  with  a 
patch  on  his  coat  over  the  elbow,  apparently  unconscious 
of  degradation. 

When  we  rode  toward  home,  we  espied  the  Pedlar's 
wagon  in  front  of  a  neighbor's  house  and  two  women 
looking  at  its  contents.  Harry  dismounted,  and  spring 
ing  upon  the  front  seat,  wrote  something  with  his  pencil 
on  the  signboard.  "  There,"  he  said  to  the  Pedlar,  "now 
you  can  swear  that  your  sign-board  tells  truth,  and  no 
body  can  contradict  you  ;  see,  there  is  a  date  :  now  it 


COUSIN     HARRY.  Io7 

reads  very  well :  "  Splendid  new  goods  received  this  morn 
ing,  July  5th."  One  of  the  women  said  she  could  not  see 
the  date.  "  So  much  the  better,"  said  Harry,  "I  have  put 
it  there  not  for  your  benefit,  but  for  this  honest  man's,  who 
can  now  ride  about  the  country  with  a  clear  conscience." 
The  Pedlar  looked  vexed,  and  seemed  somewhat  relieved 
when  Harry  re-mounted,  and  we  rode  away. 


14 


?  S  3  3  1  I  3  1  :   :   i 


CHAPTER   XV 


•jarff 

...I 


IT.     She 


be« 
ri* 
sd.  anife  sni  ID 


.--   • 

•-     Te 


"    :.   '  - 


I  «rf  he  wirii 
*e  «Mft«i*flto*i 


We 


1    "~fflt    tD 

:  1^  b   u~- 


A  TI1IT  TO 


--- 


160  PEBBLEBROOK. 

ble  with  their  guests,  but  the  effort  was  evident,  and  there 
was  little  free-flowing  talk.  We  did  not  sit  long  at  table  ; 
when  we  rose  to  depart,  Uncle  John  took  his  sister's 
hand  and  said ;  "  Mary,  I  hope  to  hear  to-morrow  that 
your  boy  is  better  :  "  She  could  make  no  reply,  and  we 
took  leave. 

On  our  way  to  the  tavern  we  met  the  person  with 
whom  Uncle  John's  business  had  been.  This  man  is  one 
of  those  who  can  never  get  done  with  a  business,  but  must 
talk  it  over  and  over,  even  after  it  is  concluded.  Uncle 
escaped  from  him  soon  as  he  could,  but  when  we  got  to  the 
tavern  the  sun  had  set.  Some  half-dozen  men  were  there 
talking  with  much  animation  about  an  Itinerant  Preach 
er.  One  praised  him  beyond  measure,  and  others  abused 
him.  We  had  heard  in  Pebblebrook  of  this  Preacher, 
and  of  the  wonderful  impression  his  preaching  had  made 
on  many  hearers.  After  some  inquiry,  we  learned  that 
he  had  been  in  Natook  ten  days,  had  preached  every  eve 
ning,  and  would  preach  again  to-night:  Harry  and  I 
wished  to  hear  him,  and  asked  Uncle  John  to  go  with  us. 
He  consented ;  though  he  said  we  should  not  get  home 
till  late  in  the  night  if  we  spent  another  hour  here.  We 
walked  toward  the  place  of  meeting,  which  was  a  dancing- 
hall.  The  room,  when  we  entered  it,  was  dimly  lighted, 
and  nearly  filled  with  human  beings  of  diverse  ages,  from 
the  roguish,  thoughtless  boy,  to  the  tottering  old  man  ; 
from  the  lively,  hopeful  maiden  to  the  careful  matron  ;  all 
seated  on  rude  benches  placed  in  rows  across  the  long 
hall.  There  was  a  confused  sound  of  many  whispering ; 
and  at  times  the  light  laughter  of  boys,  whose  mirthful- 
ness  could  not  be  entirely  suppressed,  came  on  the  ear  in 
clearer  tones.  When  the  Preacher  entered,  forcing  his  way 
through  the  crowd  at  the  door,  there  was  a  murmur ;  "  he 


A    VISIT    TO   NATOOK.  161 

is  coming,  he  is  coming ;  "  and  all  eyes  turned  toward  a 
dark-looking  man  in  gray  clothes,  and  followed  him  to 
the  upper  end  of  the  room ;  where  a  Bible  and  hymn- 
book  lay  on  a  small  table.  He  quickly  threw  off  his  coat 
and  kneeling  down  said ;  "  let  us  pray."  Many  in  the 
congregation  took  the  same  posture  ;  some  rose  on  their 
feet,  and  a  few  kept  their  seats.  These  positions  were, 
perhaps,  indicative  of  the  various  states  of  feeling.  The 
kneeling  ones  were  prepared  to  go  all  lengths  with  their 
leader ;  those  on  their  feet  were  those  whom  the  preacher 
afterwards  designated  as  the  World's  people,  and  the 
seated  ones  were  fearful  and  undecided.  No  part  of  the 
awful  prayer  which  followed  need  be  repeated  here ;  it 
ought  not;  it  was  very  effective  there,  but  would,  if 
placed  here,  excite  ridicule  in  many  readers.  There 
were  deep  groans  from  many ;  cries  of  "  Amen,"  "  Glo 
ry  to  God,"  from  others,  and  a  diversity  of  feeling 
and  demeanor  which  rendered  that  dancing-hall  an  ex 
citing  place.  A  hymn,  sung  in  a  plaintive,  mournful 
tune  by  many  voices,  followed  the  prayer,  and  seemed  to 
soften  and  harmonize  the  feelings  of  the  assembly.  In 
the  melody  of  many  human  voices  joined,  is  a  uniting 
power  beyond  that  of  any  other  sound.  Then  came  the 
sermon.  The  Preacher,  a  man  of  great  physical  powers, 
had  features  which  commanded  attention  :  he  had  deep- 
seated  black  eyes,  long  thick  hair  and  pale  dark  complex 
ion.  His  voice  had  great  compass;  now  roaring  like 
the  sea  on  its  shores,  and  now  soft  as  the  whispering 
of  wind  among  trees.  He  turned  rapidly  from  side  to 
side,  his  long  hair  streaming  out  as  he  turned ;  and  his 
eyes  were  like  balls  of  fire.  The  lofty  poetry  of  the  He 
brews,  as  found  in  the  Old  Testament,  flowed  from  him 
mingled  with  the  commonest  of  modern  expressions  ;  but 
14* 


lOV!  fEBBLEBBOOK. 

even  to  these  last  his  wild  earnestness  gave  a  kind  of  ele 
vation.  Many  of  his  utterances  were  awful  though 
vague ;  more  awful  because  of  their  vagueness :  and  ma 
ny  of  his  hearers  shrunk,  shuddering,  back  from  the 
frightful  abyss  which  seemed  yawning  beneath  them. 
The  effect  was  great  but  almost  wholly  sensual :  The 
Preacher  stood  there,  like  the  inquisitors  of  old,  pointing 
the  mind's  eye,  as  they  did  the  body's,  to  dark  dungeons 
of  torture  and  torment ;  and  many,  in  the  language  of  the 
sect,  were  convicted  and  converted.  A  young  woman, 
seated  beside  Uncle  John  and  known  to  him,  began  to 
sob.  He  whispered  her  to  go  with  him  and  she  assented. 
They  rose  and  moved  toward  the  door.  The  Preacher, 
whose  quick  eye  had  detected  the  impression  he  had 
made  on  the  young  woman,  paused  in  his  outpourings, 
and  cried  out :  "  Stay,  man  of  the  World !  leave  this 
lamb  which  is  about  to  be  gathered  to  the  fold  of  Jesus : 
lead  icer  not  again  to  the  troop  of  the  Devil."  Uncle 
Johr-  turned  round  and  said  sternly,  "  Peace,  man  ;  thy 
words  are  lost  on  me."  Then,  turning  again  to  the 
trembling  one  at  his  side,  he  spake  a  word  of  encourage 
ment  and  led  her  into  the  open  air.  Soon  he  returned 
and  s,ood  near  the  door  till  the  sermon  ended.  Another 
hyroa  followed ;  the  verses  sung  by  few  voices,  but  many 
joining  in  the  triumphant  chorus ;  and  then  the  congre 
gation  poured  itself  out  of  doors  and  scattered  itself 
abroad. 

On  our  way  home  the  conversation  ran  on  what  we 
bad  seen  and  heard.  I  said  that  I  had  been  somewhat 
affected,  and  did  not  think  it  strange  that  so  many  yielded 
themselves  up  to  their  feelings. 

"  Truly, "  said  Uncle  John,  it  is  not  strange.  That 
Preacher  is  no  common  man,  he  has  wonderful  powers 


A   VISIT    TO     21ATOOK.  163 

and  is  in  earnest.  Few  years  ago,  as  I.  have  heard,  he 
was  a  common  sailor,  a  Man-of-war's  man  :  a  bold,  brave 
man  no  doubt,  in  that  business  as  in  this ;  always  fore 
most  in  danger ;  uttering  in  one  way  and  another  all  that 
is  in  him.  When  such  a  man  speaks,  he  will  be  heard 
for  good  or  evil,  and  his  hearers  will  not  fall  asleep."  _ 

"  There  is,"  I  said,  "  something  inexplicable  in  the 
feelings  which  possess  one,  in  such  an  assemblage  as  we 
have  been  in  to-night.  The  feeling  of  the  audience  is  so 
general,  so  powerful,  that  one  seems  about  to  lose  his 
individuality,  about  to  melt,  and  mingle  with  the  whole. 
I  confess  I  had  to  take  myself  together." 

**  No  wonder :  "  he  replied, "  the  power  which  man  has 
over  man  is  indeed  wonderful,  miraculous :  it  is  exercised 
however,  oftener  than  we  think.  Enter  a  room  where  all 
are  sorrowful,  weeping ;  or  all  are  joyous,  laughing ;  and 
you  shall  partake  of  the  general  feeling,  though  you  know 
not  its  cause.  So  too,  in  the  solemn  hush  of  expectation, 
when  a  multitude  stands  as  one  man,  the  new  comer  shall 
be  silent,  waiting  he  knows  not  for  what,  and  shall  feel 
awe-struck-  The  difficult  part  of  these  religious  revivals, 
as  they  are  called,  is  the  beginning,  the  producing  this 
state  of  feeling.  After  one  conviction  and  conversion 
others  become  easy  ;  for  there  is  then  an  expectation  of 
more,  a  kind  of  faith ;  and  faith  of  every  kind  has  results." 

I  made  some  hasty  remarks  on  what  I  had  seen  and 
heard  this  evening,  which  I  would  rather  not  record  here. 

Uncle  John  replied : 

"  DoiTt  be  harsh  in  your  judgments,  Frank  :  contempt 
is  for  the  most  part  —  contemptible.  Seeing,  that  man 
has  miraculous  power  over  bis  fellow-men,  I  think  each 
one  should  look  to  himself,  and  see  how  it  is,  so  far  as  he 
can.  Much  is  said  on  all  hands  of  the  miracles  record- 


164  PEBBLEBROOK. 

ed  in  our  Bible  :  some  believe,  some  disbelieve  the  rec 
ord  ;  many  doubt.  Meanwhile,  there  is  one  incontestible 
miracle,  of  more  significance  than  any  recorded  there  : 
a  man  lived  eighteen  hundred  years  ago,  a  poor,  despised 
man,  whom  the  great  ones  of  that  day  scorned.  Never 
theless,  he  had  power  to  live  a  Life;  and  by  virtue  of  that 
Life  Christianity  exists  yet  in  the  hearts  and  lives  of  men, 
and  must  ever  exist  there." 

One  of  Uncle  John's  peculiarities  shewed  itself  here, 
as  I  had  often  noticed  it  before :  namely,  that  immediate 
ly  after  a  serious,  solemn  utterance,  he  soon  as  possible 
changes  the  conversation  to  some  indifferent  matter. 
Now  he  noticed  the  weather  and  said,  we  should  have 
rain  soon.  The  night  was  indeed  dark  ;  not  a  star  visi 
ble.  Harry,  (on  the  front  seat  of  the  wagon,)  who  had 
undertaken  to  drive  homeward,  said  he  could  not  see  the 
road.  Soon  the  way  became  so  steep,  that  the  horse 
stopped,  unable  to  move  with  his  load.  "  Why,  Harry," 
cried  my  Uncle,  "  What  a  mistake  you  have  made  !  You 
have  taken  the  wrong  road  ;  you  should  have  turned  to 
the  right,  sometime  ago."  We  got  out  of  the  wagon, 
and,  having  ascertained  that  it  would  be  difficult  to  turn 
about  here,  concluded  we  had  best  keep  on  this  way, 
though  as  the  road  had  not  been  used  for  many  years, 
we  anticipated  trouble.  Harry  led  the  horse  ;  Uncle  and 
I  walked  ahead,  to  find  out  the  way.  After  a  while  we 
got  to  the  top  of  the  hill ;  but  here  we  lost  all  trace  of  a 
carriage-way  :  after  much  turning  about,  and  many  move 
ments  this  way  and  that,  the  wagon  stuck  fast  between 
two  trees :  we  could  move  it  neither  forwards  nor  back 
wards. 

"  There  is  no  very  pleasant  prospect  before  us,  for  this 
night  at  least,"  said  I. 


A     VISIT     TO     NATOOK.  165 

"  Plensant  prospect !  "  cried  Henry,  "  there  is  no  pros 
pect  at  all :  I  cannot  see  my  hand  before  me."  I  know 
not  how  it  was,  but  the  ludicrousness  of  our  situation 
so  struck  me,  that  I  burst  out  into  a  fit  of  laughter  : 
Uncle  John  and  Harry  joined  in,  and,  in  the  still  night, 
we  made  the  woods  vocal  with  strange  sounds. 

We  unharnessed  the  horse,  fastened  him  to  a  tree,  and 
seated,  ourselves  in  the  wagon  to  wait  for  dawn  of  day, 
which  might  be  looked  for  in  some  three  hours  ;  it  being 
now,  as  we  computed,  past  midnight.  We  chatted  to 
gether,  cheerfully  as  we  could,  till  thunder,  far  off,  began 
to  rumble  and  mutter,  threatening  a  tempest.  Harry 
jumped  out  of  the  wagon,  said  he  would  explore  the  re 
gion  round  about,  and,  if  possible,  find  shelter.  Uncle 
John  strove  to  dissuade  him,  said  it  would  prove  a  use 
less  attempt,  and  that  he  might  lose  himself,  or  break  his 
neck.  But  he,  repeating  that  good  old  saying  :  "  there 
is  nothing  like  trying,"  started  off  on  his  exploring  ex 
pedition.  We  called  to  him  often  :  he  answered,  now 
afar  off,  now  nearer,  now  more  distant  again.  The  thun 
der  advanced,  roaring  louder  and  louder,  as  the  clouds 
came  on ;  and  pale  red  light  flashed  through  the  forest* 
lighting  it  up,  as  with  the  glare  of  a  conflagration ;  re 
vealing,  for  an  instant,  frightful  forms,  and  then  all  was 
darker  than  before.  Harry  called  out,  "  I've  found  it : 
here  it  is,  come,  come  here  "  I  started  off  in  the  direc 
tion  of  his  voice,  Uncle  John  saying,  he  would  stay  by 
the  wagon,  so  that  we  might  not  lose  that.  I  called  often 
to  Harry  :  he  answered,  and  at  last  I  joined  him.  "  What 
is  it  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  So  far  as  I  can  find  it  out,  it  is  a  hut  or  cabin  :  at  any 
rate  it  is  wooden  and  has  an  inside."  He  struck  his  fist 
upon  it  and  it  gave  out  a  hollow  sound.  We  moved  our 


166  PEBBLEBROOK. 

hands  over  its  sides  all  around  and  found  a  door.  There 
was  nothing  within  it  except  some  straw  on  the  floor  :  it 
had  probably  been  erected  by  wood-cutters.  I  called 
Uncle  John  and  he  joined  us.  We  were  thankful  for  this 
shelter,  for  rain  now  came  down  in  no  stinted  measure, 
and  there  was  a  fearful  thundering  overhead  :  it  seemed, 
indeed,  on  this  hill-top,  to  be  all  around  us.  The  light 
ning-flashes  shewed  to  each  the  faces  of  his  companions, 
which,  in  such  light,  had  a  death-like  look  not  altogether 
pleasing. 

The  tempest  passed  over,  and  stars  peeped  out  through 
the  broken  clouds  :  soon  the  gray  dawn  of  day  gladdened 
us,  and  we  went  abroad.  Harry  was  not  a  little  startled 
when  he  saw  in  open  daylight,  the  region  he  had  wan 
dered  over  in  darkness :  few  paces  from  the  hut  was  an 
awful  precipice.  He  stood  on  its  brink  and  looked 
thoughtfully  downward :  then  turning  away,  said :  "You 
were  right  last  night,  Uncle ;  I  did  run  some  risk  of 
breaking  my  neck  ;  but  then,  if  I  had  not  run  that  risk 
we  should  all  have  been  well  drenched,  and  perhaps  got 
colds.  I  think  the  Dutchman,  De  Witt,  was  half  right 
in  his  saying :  '  We  should  be  careful  of  health,  but 
careless  of  life.'  "  Uncle  John  replied,  «'  A  wiser  man 
than  De  Witt,  says,  that  '  Our  reasons  are  always  a  sup 
plement  to  our  practice :  '  and  as  we  are  quite  satisfied 
with  the  results  of  your  last  night's  doings,  you  need 
not  trouble  yourself  to  justify  them." 

"  Harry,"  said  I,  "  let  us  hear  your  reasons  for  taking 
the  wrong  road." 

"  Well,  there  was  such  an  interesting  conversation 
going  on  behind  me,  that  my  attention  was  drawn  from 
the  business  in  hand." 


A     VISIT     TO     NATOOK.  167 

Soon  we  found  the  road  ;  disengaged  with  some  diffi 
culty  our  wagon  from  its  sticking  place  ;  got  under  way, 
and  descended  the  hill  on  the  Pebblebrook  side.  The 
road  was  bad  enough,  and  we  were  obliged  to  walk  be 
side  the  wagon ;  but  by  the  blessed  light  of  day  we  got 
along  pretty  well.  Pebblebrook  lay  there  below  us,  out 
of  sight,  veiled  in  a  robe  of  mist :  but  as  we  descended, 
the  veil,  by  an  unseen  hand,  was  rolled  in  large  folds  on 
the  hill  sides ;  soon  each  little  hamlet  stood  revealed  in 
the  morning  sunlight,  and  from  each  chimney,  rose  the 
smoke  of  incense  to  the  God  of  Day. 


168  PEBBLEBROOK. 


CHAPTER   XVI. 


BROTHER     WILLIAM. 

WHILE  in  Pebblebrook,  a  letter  came  to  me  from  my 
Brother  William  ;  which,  after  some  consideration,  I  have 
determined  to  place  here.  The  beginning  and  end,  being 
unessential  parts,  I  shall  omit :  the  main  body  of  it  ran 
as  follows. 

"  My  spiritual  experience  has,  of  late,  been  very  re 
markable  ;  and  will,  I  doubt  not,  be  interesting  to  you. 
You  know,  that  I  have  long  been  ill  at  ease,  but,  perhaps, 
you  are  not  aware  of  the  extent  of  my  sufferings.  The 
business  I  seemed  destined  to  follow  has  long  been,  as 
you  partly  know,  quite  repugnant  to  my  feelings,  and  has 
lately  become  altogether  hateful  to  me  :  yet  what  could  I 
do  ?  I  had  studied  years  to  fit  myself  for  this  end,  and 
I  could  look  for  wealth  and  fame  in  no  other  course  with 
so  much  certainty  as  in  this.  I  well  remember  my  feel 
ings  when  admitted  to  the  Bar.  The  long  course  of  law 
reading,  so  dry  and  barren  in  itself,  I  had  endured  be 
cause  of  its  results:  it  was  finished  ;  and  1  looked  for 
ward  to  pleadings  before  judge  and  jury,  to  a  crowded 
audience  and  to  splendid  triumphs.  Beyond  that,  I  saw 
halls  of  legislation,  and  the  highest  public  offices  in  the 


BROTHER     WILLIAM.  169 

land  ;  and  dreamed  of  much.  With  these  hopes  of  wealth 
and  fame  I  commenced  the  practice  ofl  aw.  How  bitter 
was  my  disappointment !  You  probably  recollect,  what 
I  said  to  you  some  years  ago,  and  also  the  counsel  you 
gave  me.  This  last  was  all  in  vain ;  it  had  been  perhaps 
useful  to  another,  but  it  was  not  so  to  me  :  I  could  not 
find  heart  for  this  law  work.  I  slowly  gave  up  my  busi 
ness  ;  or  rather  it  left  me,  and  went  to  other  hands  which 
were  ready  for  it.  Last  spring,  when  I  took  this  small 
house  in  the  country,  and  brought  my  family  hither,  I  be 
gan  to  labor  with  my  own  hands  on  the  soil  around  it,  and 
found  some  peace  of  mind  ;  for  I  could  see  that  I  was 
doing  innocent  work.  Still,  at  times,  longings  would  arise 
within  me  for  a  higher  sphere  of  action  :  but  these  long 
ings  arose  mostly  in  idle  hours,  and  served  only  to  disquiet 
me.  After  a  time  passed  in  alternations  of  rest  and  un 
rest,  I  thought  I  had  conquered  ;  but  I  was  wrong ;  it 
was  only  the  absence  of  temptation  that  gave  me  peace. 
One  of  my  friends  wrote  to  me,  offering  to  form  a  part 
nership  ;  and  he  invited  me  to  visit  him  and  arrange  mat 
ters.  Desires,  which  I  had  thought  dead,  awoke  within 
me  with  renewed  strength  ;  for  they  had  only  slept.  I 
consulted  my  wife :  she  knew  my  state  of  mind  so  far 
as  one  human  being  can  know  that  of  another ;  she 
knew,  in  part,  of  my  aversion  to  this  law  business.  In 
her  nobleness  of  soul,  she  said,  she  would  have  me  do 
only  what  T  thought  right :  she  would  rather  be  poor  than 
that  I  should  be  wretched.  Her  generosity  moved  me,  for  I 
knew  that  she  wanted  many  things,  which  my  circumstan 
ces  could  not  afford. 

"  I  rode  to  the  city,  and  entered   the  office  of  my  rich 
friend.     He  made  a  statement  of  the  profits   of  his   busi 
ness  ;  said,  that  he  wished  to  have  more  leisure  time,  and 
15 


170  PEBBLEBEOOK. 

should  probably,  in  few  years,  give  up  the  whole  to  me. 
I  listened  to  all  his  details  :  there  was  an  apparent  cer 
tainty  of  wealth  for  me,  but  I  felt  my  old  repugnance  to 
the  means  of  returning.  I  hesitated,  and  told  him  I  would 
decide  on  the  morrow.  That  night  I  could  not  sleep  : 
the  strife  in  my  bosom  would  not  cease.  After  daylight, 
however,  I  fell  into  a  deep  slumber  ;  and  woke  not  till 
the  sun  was  high  in  the  heavens.  I  looked  out  into  the 
busy  streets  and  saw  men  walking  to  and  fro,  and  said, 
why  cannot  I  too  run  to  and  fro  and  get  much  1  I  stood 
some  half  hour  there  in  a  painful  state  of  indecision,  and 
I  know  not  what  fixed  my  course ;  but  there  came  over 
my  mind,  as  it  were,  a  great  calm.  I  went  to  my  friend's 
office  and  told  him  that  1  could  not  accept  his  offer  :  if 
I  did  so,  it  would  result  in  no  good  to  either  of  us.  He 
asked  me  what  I  intended  to  do  ?  And  I  replied,  that 
I  did  not  know.  I  believe  he  thought  me  crazy,  though  he 
did  not  say  so.  I  returned  home  with  no  plan  for  the 
future,  but  quite  satisfied  that  I  had  done  right  for  the 
present. 

"  I  should  have  told  you  before,  that  sometime  ago  a 
book  fell  into  my  hands,  which  has  had  much  effect  on 
me.  It  is  a  strange  book  :  but  I  can  give  you  no  idea  of 
it  within  the  limits  of  this  letter,  which  is  like  to  be  full 
enough  of  other  matters  :  you  shall  read  it  for  yourself  if 
you  will.  It  led  me  to  think  much  of  Time  and  Eterni 
ty  :  it  did  not  explain  to  me  the  matters  it  treats  of,  but 
rather  opened  my  own  soul,  and  thus  made  to  me  a  reve 
lation  of  the  Infinite.  I  turned  at  last  to  the  New  Testa 
ment,  which  I  had  long  neglected.  I  read  it  now  in  a  free 
spirit,  but  with  a  deep  desire  to  learn  the  truth.  Such 
parts,  therefore,  as  seemed  dark  to  me,  or  even  untrue,  1 
did  not  dwell  upon.  I  read  attentively,  earnestly,  all  that 


B RO T HER   W  IL L IAM.  171 

relates  to  the  Saviour's  character,  and  felt  the  Spirit  of 
his  Life.  I  learned  this  truth  :  that  were  such  a  one  as 
He,  that  is,  one  filled  with  the  same  Spirit,  in  the  body 
now,  he  would  not  be  recognised  as  the  Highest.  Some 
of  the  denunciations  of  Jesus  are  terrible:  but  what  did 
he  denounce,  what  did  he  utterly  and  always  condemn  1 
Much  might  be  said  on  this  matter  ;  but  each  one  must 
search  for  himself. 

"  I  was  all  this  time,  as  you  may  well  believe,  not  quite 
at  ease  in  regard  to  other  things  beside  these  highest.  I 
had  to  provide  for  myself  and  family  the  necessaries  of 
life,  and  wished  to  get  also  something  more,  and  must 
consider  how  it  could  be  done  :  this  gave  me  many  anx 
ious  hours. 

One  day  I  was  clipping  grass  on  the  embankments 
around  my  house,  and  thinking  of  this  wondrous  life  of 
ours  and  its  meaning.  I  determined  to  strive  no  more 
for  any  merely  selfish  end :  in  my  inmost  soul,  in  deepest 
silence,  I  said  :  not  my  Will,  but  Thine  be  done  :  and  felt 
an  entire  willingness  to  submit  my  poor  self  to  the  Eter 
nal  and  Universal  One.  Straightway  the  Spirit  seemed 
to  fill  me,  and  raise  me  above  the  Earth  :  I  became  buoy 
ant  as  with  Eternal  Life.  Words  cannot  describe  this 
Presence  and  its  blessedness.  I  said  to  myself  in  the 
language  of  the  Methodists,  "  I've  got  Religion."  Soon 
I  asked,  (clipping  grass  the  while,)  what  am  I?  And 
answered,  I  am  a  barber,  shaving  Nature's  face  with 
out  lather. 

"  I  have  hesitated  about  telling  you  the  whole  of  this 
singular  event,  for  it  may  seem  to  you  ridiculous,  if  not 
impious ;  nevertheless,  it  was  so  as  I  have  described  it ; 
and  if  any  part  should  be  told,  why  not  the  whole  ?  It  is 
now  a  fortnight  since  that  day,  and  I  never  think  of  it 


172  PEBBLEBROOK. 

without  inward  mirth.  I  am  cheerful,  joyous  ;  and  hope 
soon  to  see  my  way  in  this  world  made  clear  to  me." 

I  read  this  letter  to  my  Uncle,  who  listened  attentive 
ly,  and  kept  silence  some  minutes  after  I  had  ended  till 
I  asked  what  he  thought  of  it  ? 

"  That  was  a  strange  event ;  "  he  said  in  reply,  "  that 
one  when  he  was  clipping  grass.  Such  union  of  things 
serious  and  things  humorous,  is  uncommon  enough,  but 
it  is  perhaps  a  happy  union :  it  will,  in  William's  case,  I 
hope,  prevent  the  growth  of  spiritual  pride,  which  such 
an  hour  might  otherwise  engender ;  and  spiritual  pride 
is  no  good  thing.  Many  a  man  promising  to  become  a 
great  and  shining  light,  through  spiritual  pride  raises  the 
wick  of  his  lamp  too  high,  so  that  smoke,  mingling  with 
the  flame,  makes  the  light  lurid,  and  surrounding  at 
mosphere  offensive :  such  light,  as  we  all  know,  is  not 
the  best." 

"  You  think,  then,  that  William  is  on  a  good  way. 
I  am  glad  he  is  cheerful  once  more,  for  he  has  long  been 
gloomy  and  dispirited.  I  shall  be  glad  to  see  smiles  on 
his  face  again.  How  can  I  assist  him  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  you  cannot  help  him  so  easily  as  you  imagine. 
Some  kind  of  work  he  must  have  :  he  cannot  long  have 
peace  of  mind  without.  Now,  Frank,  don't  form  any  plan 
for  him :  don't  go  to  him  prepared  to  give  advice,  be 
cause  you  happen  to  be  a  few  years  older  than  he.  Find 
out  in  the  first  place  what  business  he  wants  ;  and  then 
quietly  help  him  to  get  it  if  you  can.  I  hope  he  is 
not  inclined  to  rely  too  much  on  what  is  called  Provi 
dence:  in  regard  to  the  affairs  of  this  world,  he  must 
trust  mainly  to  the  providence  that  is  in  himself.  This 
life  is  called  a  battle  and  very  properly.  William's  in 
ternal  strife,  what  may  be  named  his  civil  war,  has 


BROTHER    WILLIAM.  173 

ceased  for  a  time  :  we  may,  indeed,  hope  that  the  better 
part  has  conquered,  and  that  there  may  be  lasting  peace 
within.  Nevertheless,  he  has  work  to  do  :  all  is  not  done 
when  one  submits  to  the  Higher  Powers ;  one  must 
work  with  them  and  in  them."  The  conversation  was 
interrupted  by  the  voice  of  one  singing.  We  listened  a 
moment,  and  Uncle  John  said  :  "  It  is  poor  Kate."  She 
was  —  but  poor  Kate  shall  have  a  short  Chapter  of 
her  own. 


15* 


174  PEBBLEBROOK. 


CHAPTER    XVII 


POOR     KAT  E. 

SHE  sang  in   a  plaintive,  longing  tone  the  following 
verses. 

The  Sparrow  hovers  round  her  nest 
And  gladly  welcomes  home  her  mate  ; 
In  loving  union  they  are  blest :  — 
Come  Willy,  corne  again  to  Kate. 

Oh,  could  I  hear  his  gladsome  voice, 
And  his  sweet  breath  breathe  in  again, 
And  in  his  looks  of  love  rejoice, 
I'd  be  once  more  as^I  have  been. 

It  cannot  be  ;  no  voice  of  love 

Echoes  the  feeling  of  my  heart ; 

Lone  through  Life's  weary  round  I  move, 

And  ceaseless  ask, ;  may  I  depart  ? 

The  singer  was  near  us  but  hid  from  view  by  a  close 
board  fence.  When  she  ceased  to  sing,  Uncle  John,  say 
ing  he  must  speak  to  her,  opened  a  narrow  gate  and  we 
stepped  through  it.  She^yvas  sitting  on  the  ground,  but 
rose  when  we  came  in  sight.  Her  whole  appearance,  at 
a  little  distance,  was  nowise  note-worthy,  except  that  bows 
of  pink-colored  ribbon  were  fastened  in  too  great  quan 
tity  to  many  parts  of  her  otherwise  neat  dress.  Her  pale 


POOR      KATE.  175 

face  had  no  remarkable  feature  save  her  blue  eyes  ;  which, 
when  we  came  nearer,  had  a  somewhat  wild,  uneasy 
look.  Uncle  John  saluted  her  kindly,  and  took  her  hand 
in  his  own.  A  light  red  color  tinged  her  cheek  when  she 
asked,  glancing  at  me,  "  did  you  hear  my  song  1"  and 
her  cheek  faded  again  when  he  answered ;  that  we  had 
heard  only  few  words  of  it.  He  asked  her  to  walk  home 
with  him  and  take  tea  with  his  nieces  :  she  replied  :  she 
could  not ;  they  told  her  she  must  always  come  home  be 
fore  dark  ;  she  did  not  know  why  :  she  used  once  to  stay 
out  of  doors  evenings.  "  If  William  would  come  home," 
she  continued  very  earnestly,  "  I  could  stay  out  every 
pleasant  evening."  — She  turned  quickly  to  me  and  asked  ; 
"  Do  you  think  he  will  come  Sir  ]"  I  was  trying  to 
frame  an  answer  when  she  exclaimed  :  "  Is'nt  it  like  a 
ship  1  see,  all  the  sails  are  spread !"  She  pointed  to  a  large 
white  cloud  in  which  one  not  predisposed  to  see  a  ship 
could  trace  nothing  like  one.  She  spoke  again  in  a 
mournful  tone  :  "  there,  it  is  changing  now  :  every  thing 
changes  and  he  don't  come  yet :  'tis  so  long  :  my  rib 
bons  grow  old,  and  fade,  and  I  get  new  ones,  but  he  don't 
come.  He  used  to  say  I  looked  pretty  in  pink."  She 
busied  herself  putting  in  order  some  of  the  ribbons,  which 
her  walk  through  bushes  had  disarranged,  and  Uncle 
John  enquired  about  her  parents'  health  ;  invited  her  to 
visit  at  his  house  often,  assuring  her  she  would  be  always 
welcome.  She  thanked  him,  but  gave,  apparently,  little 
heed  to  his  words.  "  Hist!"  she  said,  "  'tis  that  poor 
bird  again ,  I  heard  it  last  night."  She  walked  quickly 
away  toward  the  quarter  whence  came  the  sad  notes  of  a 
bird  that  had  lost  its  mate  or  its  young.  As  she  went 
she  sang : 


PEBBLEBROOK. 

All  alone,  alone, 
No  one  to  comfort  me  ; 
To  griefs  ever  prone 
Till  Death  sets  me  free. 

Far  away,  away, 
Is  rest  for  the  weary  ; 
For  that  ever  pray  ; 
This  life  is  dreary. 

She  stopped  under  some  fruit-trees  a  little  way  off,  and 
seemed  to  be  looking  for  the  bereaved  bird.  After 
a-while  she  seated  herself  and  sang  again,  a  mournful  ditty, 
of  which  we  could  not  distinguish  the  words.  She  rose, 
looked  some  few  minutes  towards  the  western  sky,  where 
the  Sun  was  setting  behind  a  mass  of  dark  lead-colored 
clouds,  and  then  walked  homeward. 

"  Poor  girl,"  said  Uncle  John,  "  her  only  comfort  is 
the  singing  of  her  sorrow  :  it  is  the  only  way  in  which 
she  can  disburthen  her  heart." 

As  we  walked  homeward  I  learned  some  part  of  Kate's 
story.  She  is  the  only  child  of  her  parents,  to  whom 
several  others  had  been  born,  but  all  died  in  infancy  save 
this  one.  As  too  often  happens  in  such  cases,  every  wish 
of  this  only  child  had  been  too  much  indulged.  That 
discipline,  too,  which  arises  where  many  children  live  to 
gether  and  each  one,  alternately,  must  in  some  way  yield 
to  another,  was  wanting  here. 

Some  three  years  ago  her  lover  left  the  village  to  seek 
his  fortune  on  the  ocean.  He  sailed  away  on  a  long  voy 
age,  and  nearly  a  year  after  his  departure  a  letter  from 
him  reached  her.  It  told  her,  among  other  things,  that 
himself  would  soon  follow  it :  within  a  month  he  would 
be  with  her  again,  and  then  they  would  marry.  Kate 
was  a  glad  girl  that  day,  and  commenced  preparation  for 


POOR    KATE.  177 

her  wedding ;  but  her  lover  came  not  at  the  appointed 
time  ;  he  came  not  ever  ;  nor  did  there  come  tidings  of 
the  ship  he  sailed  in  :  she  had  probably  foundered  at  sea. 
Kate  looked  out  day  after  day,  and  month  after  month,  in 
vain.  Hope  deferred,  it  hath  often  been  said,  maketh  the 
heart  sick ;  and  heart  and  head  are  intimately,  mys 
teriously  connected.  Poor  Kate  became  possessed  by 
one  feeling,  one  idea.  This  manifold  existence,  with  its 
cares  and  duties  and  joys,  ceased  to  be  manifold  to  her. 
In  her  mind  there  is  only  one  Image :  all  others  are  acci 
dental,  trivial ;  they  are  not  except  as  related  to  this  one  : 
she  is  beside  herself. 


ITS  PEBBLE  BROOK. 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 


U  XCL  E   It  O  BE  RT. 

MANY  laborers  in  the  fields  paused  in  their  work,  and 
many  women  looked  out  of  windows,  speculating  on  the 
appearance  of  an  elegant  carriage,  drawn  by  two  noble 
black  horses,  which  came  rolling  on  four  wheels  along  the 
highways  of  Pebblebrook.  In  that  carriage  sat  my  Uncle 
the  Merchant,  his  wife,  and  daughter  ;  the  latter  a  child 
of  eight  years.  They  were  on  their  homeward  way  from 
the  Springs,  and  purposed  spending  a  day  with  their  broth 
er  and  sister. 

When  they,  after  much  fuss,  had  got  into  the  house 
and  retired  to  make  some  change  in  their  dress,  Harriet 
said  : 

"  What  under  Heaven  sends  them  hither  ?  I  suppose 
they  think  it  their  duty  to  visit  their  poor  relations,  and 
shed  upon  us  the  light  of  their  countenance :  I  wish  they 
had  seen  fit  to  keep  themselves  away,  and  leave  us  in 
peace. 

"  Let  us  not  think  about  that,"  replied  Amelia,  "  they 
have  come,  and  our  part  of  the  business  is  plain  enough  : 
we  have  only  to  set  before  them  the  best  we  have  got,  and 
make  them  comfortable  while  they  stay :  there  will  be  no 
great  trouble  in  it." 


UNCLE    ROBEBT.  179 

"  No,*'  said  the  other,  "  if  they  would  only  be  satisfied  : 
but  Aunt  will  look  all  the  while  as  though  she  were  say 
ing  to  herself:  I  hare  not  been  used  to  such  furniture  and 
food ;  I  wonder  people  can  live  so." 

"  Let  her  look  as  she  will :"  Amelia  said, «'  that  is  not 
our  business  :  I'll  go  to  her  room  and  see  if  she  wants 
any  thing  which  is  not  to  be  found  there." 

Harriet  continued  giving  utterence  to  her  discontent ; 
and  1  could  not  but  think,  that  the  want  of  kindly  feeling 
between  the  rich  and  the  poor  members  of  a  family  can 
almost  as  often  be  traced  to  envy  on  the  one  part,  as  to 
superciliousness  on  the  other.  Amelia  soon  returned 
bringing  two  beautiful  parasols,  presents  from  her  Aunt 
to  herself  and  sister. 

"  See,  this  is  just  what  you  were  wishing  for  the  other 
day,  Harriet :  which  do  you  like  best  !" 

Harriet  seemed  to  prefer  the  gayest  one,  though  she  did 
not  speak  out  her  preference,  and,  as  Amelia  chose  the 
other,  the  matter  was  soon  settled.  Harriet  was  evidently 
well  pleased  with  this  gift,  though  she  said  :  "  the  Lady 
might  have  waited  one  day  before  she  began  to  make 
presents." 

Uncle  John  came  in  from  the  fields,  and  the  visiters 
appeared  in  the  parlor.  1  was  struck  with  the  fact  that 
some  likeness  could  be  traced  in  the  features  of  the  two 
brothers ;  for  a  short  time  before  I  had  said  to  Uncle  John 
that  they  were  quite  unlike.  It  were  difficult  to  tell  in 
what  this  likeness  consisted.  The  Merchant,  seen  at  a 
little  distance,  was  as  good-looking,  you  would  say,  as  his 
brother :  but  not  so  when  you  came  very  near  the  two 
men.  Nature  had  made  them  much  alike,  but  the  Spirit 
which  ruled  their  lives  had  given  to  each  a  peculiar  look : 
their  looks  did  not  express  the  same  soul.  When  they 


180  PEBBLEBROOK. 

shook  hands  Uncle  John's  open  face  seemed  all  radiant 
with  gladness. 

At  dinner  the  talk  between  the  brothers  turned  on 
business,  and  the  Merchant  said  : 

"The  present  state  of  commercial  business  is  so  unset 
tled,  uncertain,  that  one  so  extensively  engaged  in  it 
as  I  am,  can  feel  no  security  in  his  possessions.  I  shall 
be  anxious  till  I  get  back  to  my  counting-room  :  I  cannot 
enjoy  a  day  away  from  it.  The  late  accounts  by  the 
steam-ship  from  England  are  quite  alarming." 

The  conversation  now  ran  for  some  time  on  the  chan 
ges  which  steam-power  seemed  destined  to  produce.  The 
Merchant,  considering  the  matter  from  his  point  of  view, 
said  :  the  probable  effect  of  this  rapid  intercourse  would 
be  to  equalize  prices  of  merchandize  throughout  the 
world.  "  Whenever  there  is  in  any  part  a  want  of  anyone 
article,  or  even  the  probability  of  a  want,  straightway  the 
fact,  by  means  of  steam  conveyance,  is  known  in  all  parts 
of  the  commercial  world,  and  the  want  is  forthwith  sup 
plied  or  anticipated.  I  fear  that  the  profits  of  trade  will 
be  lessened  by  such  universal  information  in  regard  to 
all  matters  relating  thereto  as  is  now  spread  abroad.  The 
nearer  commercial  marts  are  to  each  other  the  completer 
is  the  equality  of  prices,  and  this  steam  conveyance  does 
in  effect  bring  distant  places  near." 

"  It  is  curious,"  said  Uncle  John,  "  to  consider  how 
long  a  power  lies  under  our  very  nose  before  we  can  find 
means  to  use  it.  How  many  millions  of  men  saw  the 
generation  of  steam  in  kettles  on  the  domestic  hearth  ; 
saw  its  power  in  the  lifting  of  kettle-covers;  before  one  at 
tempted  to  measure  that  power  or  shew  its  uses.  —  This 
steam-power,  as  applied  to  land  and  water  conveyances, 
is  one  of  the  great  agents  of  Democracy.  Your  rich 


UNCLE    ROBERT. 


181 


Speculator  and  Forestaller  can  now  run  no  private  ex 
press  for  his  own  private  advantage  ;  the  public  or  Peo 
ple's  steamer  goes  too  fast  for  him." 

"  Sometimes,"  replied  the  other,  "  I  get  frightened  in 
view  of  these  astonishing  changes,  and  almost  resolve  to 
retire  from  business  and  keep  what  I  have  got.  Corpora 
tions  for  money-getting  purposes,  which  were  once  con 
sidered  aristocratic,  are  now  rather  democratic  than  oth 
erwise.  Some  twenty  of  my  poor  neighbors  associate, 
and  their  association  enables  them  to  compete  with  me  : 
in  fact  any  one  of  them,  by  means  of  credit,  can  operate 
on  a  scale  equal  to  my  own.  A  young  man,  whose  place 
of  business  is  next  door  to  mine,  commenced  business  five 
years  ago  :  he  had  then  a  capital  of  only  four  thousand 
dollars ;  and  now  I  can't  say  whether  he  have  one  hun 
dred  thousand  dollars,  or  be  unable  to  pay  his  debts  :  one 
thing  I  do  know  ;  he  spends  five  or  six  thousand  dollars 
per  annum,  and  talks  as  though  he  were  worth  half  a 
million.3' 

Uncle  John  smiled,  and  said  :  "  I  have  had  some  little 
experience  in  this  commercial  credit  business.  What  is 
called  '  an  enterprising  young  man/  who  has  a  small 
money-capital  of  his  own,  is  like  that  woman  who  took  a 
little  leaven  and  hid  it  in  three  measures  of  meal  till  the 
whole  was  leavened.  How  cunningly  he  kneads  that  lit 
tle  leaven  of  his  own  into  the  meal  he  has  borrowed  on 
long  credit,  till  the  whole  mass  is  leavened,  and  he  says  ; 
See  my  cakes  !  I  will  eat  my  fill  of  these  cakes,  and,  in 
case  I  do  not  find  means  to  pay  for  the  meal,  I  shall  be 
'  unfortunate  in  business.'  " 

The  Merchant's  wife  had,  meanwhile,  been   talking  of 
the  great  people  she  had  seen  at  the  Springs  ;  of  dinners, 
and  balls  there  ;  of  the  trouble  she  had  had  with  her  ser- 
16 


182  ,  PEBBLEBROOK. 

vants  at  home,  and  the  Devil  knows  what  else :  she  got  at 
last,  by  some  crooked  by-way,  to  a  Foreign  Missionary 
Society  of  which  she  is  member.  She  told  how  many  Bi 
bles  the  Society  had  distributed ;  how  many  of  the  Hea 
then  its  Missionaries  had  converted.  Soon  as  she  com 
menced  this  last  subject,  she  put  on  a  serious  look  and 
began  to  measure  her  words  :  when  she  got  to  the  con- 
verson  of  the  Heathen  her  face  wore  a  most  sanctified 
expression. 

Aunt  Sarah,  who,  in  the  simple  goodness  of  her  heart, 
favors  every  thing  which  has  even  a  pretension  to  good 
ness,  said  what  was  true  of  the  Christian  Gospel  and  the 
the  duty  of  making  it  known  throughout  the  world.  A 
remark  of  Amelia's  struck  me  :  "  I  have  heard,"  she  said, 
"what  my  Uncles  have  been  saying  of  the  effects  of 
steam-power  in  quickening  the  intercourse  of  the  different 
nations  of  the  Earth;  and  it  seems  to  me  that  Missionary 
Societies  are  now  almost  useless.  When  the  different  na 
tions  get  well  acquainted  with  each  other,  as  they,  by  one 
means  and  another,  are  like  to  be  at  no  very  distant  day, 
the  whole  World  will  get  the  benefit  of  Christianity,  pro 
vided  we,  who  profess  it  in  word,  live  it  in  deed." 

The  Lady  looked  blank,  and  made  some  common 
place  remark  of  the  kind  called  religious.  Amelia, 
whose  impromptu  utterance  had  hit  harder  than  she  in 
tended,  asked  her  Aunt  to  take  some  strawberries  and 
cream  which  had  just  been  brought  in. 

The  Merchant,  whose  thoughts  seemed  to  run  continu 
ally  on  his  business,  kept  up  a  lively  conversation  with  his 
brother  on  matters  in  some  way  related  thereto.  He 
was  rather  bitter  in  expression  of  his  feeling  toward  our 
late  President  and  the  present  one.  The  administration 
of  Old  Hickory  had,  he  thought,  produced  the  late  com- 


UNCLE    ROBERT.  183 

mercial  crisis  and  done  incalculable  evil.  Uncle  John, 
on  the  contrary,  thought  Old  Hickory  had  been  quite 
right  in  his  intentions,  and  more  than  half  right  in  his 
measures :  he  had  no  doubt  hastened  that  crisis,  not  pro 
duced  it ;  and,  perhaps,  it  is  well  that  he  did  hasten  it, 
otherwise  diseased  matters  might  have  come  to  a  worse 
head. 

"  Our  present  credit  system,"  said  the  merchant,  "  is 
attended  with  great  evils  ;  yet  this  country  has  advanced 
in  wealth  and  general  prosperity,  much  more  rapidly  than 
it  could  have  done  without  it ;  and,  on  the  whole,  per 
haps  we  should  consider  it  a  good  :  what  do  you  think  of 
it?" 

"  I  cannot  consider  that  a  good  which  is  in  itself  a 
Lie.  Has  not  your  late  general  Bankruptcy  proved  your 
credit  system  a  Falsehood  1  It  was  the  tumbling  in  of  a 
fair  surface  spread  over  a  frightful  pit :  the  Pit  is  still 
there  beneath  your  whole  business,  though  a  thin  film  of 
Fair  Appearance  has  covered  it  again.  Lies  are  of  two 
kinds,  Lies  of  word,  and  Lies  of  deed ;  and  the  last  are 
infinitely  worst.  What  is  the  real  worth  of  that  man 
whose  whole  outward  look  is  that  of  great  possession, 
while,  in  his  heart,  he  knows  that  were  his  debts  paid,  he 
would  stand  naked  as  he  came  into  the  World?  It  is 
pretty  certain  that  while  these  people  dance  the  Piper 
waits  for  his  pay." 

"  Who  is  the  Piper,  and  who  pays  him  ?  "  asked  Har 
riet.  "  The  Piper,"  Uncle  John  replied,  "  is  the  Devil ; 
that  is  pretty  plain.  Who  shall  pay  him  is  not  quite  so 
clear.  Men  now  living  shall  pay  part  of  the  scot ;  men 
yet  unborn  shall  pay  the  balance.  Properly  speaking, 
however,  the  account  which  the  Devil  keeps  with  man 
kind  is  of  the  kind  called  a  running  account ;  of  which 


184  PEBBLEBROOK. 

the  balance  is  carried  forward,  or  settled  by  a  draft  on 
time." 

After  a  little  more  talk  of  a  rambling  kind,  our  party 
broke  up  and  scattered  itself. 

I  walked  abroad  and  spent  an  hour  or  two  in  the  office 
of  the  Lawyer,  who  is  a  man  of  leisure ;  litigation  not  be 
ing  one  of  the  prevailing  sins  in  Pebblebrook.  Some 
half  dozen  of  the  neighbors  were  there  and  one  stranger. 
They  were  discussing  the  merits  of  the  License  law ;  and 
the  remark  of  some  one  ;  that  we  have  too  many  laws  ; 
opened  a  wide  field  for  argument.  On  one  side  it  was 
argued  that  written  law  is  the  creator  of  morality  ; 
that  public  sentiment  cannot,  for  any  considerable  length 
of  time,  be  sustained  above  the  level  of  the  laws  ;  and  that 
many  laws  are  needed  for  the  good  of  society. 

On  the  other  hand  some  said,  that  the  aim  of  every 
government  should  be  to  make  its  laws  few  in  number, 
plain  in  tenor,  and  universal  in  application :  such  should 
be  the  aim  of  every  government,  and  especially  of  a 
republican.  This  last  rests  on  Public  Opinion,  and  pro 
fesses  to  preside  over  Freemen  :  it  should  therefore  leave 
to  every  individual  as  much  freedom  of  action  as  is  con 
sistent  with  the  safety  of  society. 

There  was  much  talk  on  both  sides,  and  something 
like  ill  feeling  shewed  itself :  the  breach  grew  wider,  and 
the  two  sides  could  not  get  together.  The  stranger, 
taking  advantage  of  a  pause  in  the  argument,  rose  and 
said.  "  I  have  noticed  that  little  good  comes  from  strife 
of  this  kind.  One  thing  all  history  has  made  plain  ;  that 
the  Public  Benefactor  is  not  the  man  who  enforces  the 
dead  letter  of  the  law,  but  he  who,  in  the  Spirit  of  Truth, 
by  word  and  deed,  incites  his  fellow-men  to  a  higher  life 
than  written  law  can  prescribe."  This  man  had  a  deep, 


UNCLE     ROBERT.  185 

quiet  look,  was  plain  in  his  general  appearance,  and 
spoke  in  a  calm  tone  with  remarkable  distinctness.  He 
invited  one  of  the  company,  whose  dwelling-place  lay  on 
the  road  he  was  going,  to  ride  thither  in  his  wagon,  and 
the  two  departed.  —  I  rambled  about  some  time  in  lanes 
and  by-ways,  and  toward  night  turned  homeward.  When 
I  came  near  the  house  I  saw  all  the  family  and  visitors  in 
the  garden.  They  stood  in  a  group  looking  toward  the 
western  sky,  where  large  masses  of  broken  clouds,  above 
and  beyond  the  hills,  lighted  up  by  the  setting  sun,  made 
the  Heaven-drapery  of  Earth.  I  wish  the  Reader  could 
have  seen  these  members  of  the  Harding  Family  stand 
ing  there,  amid  the  green  foliage  of  the  garden,  in  the 
evening  sunlight.  It  was  such  a  family  picture  as  any 
man  would  be  proud  of.  They  had  a  common  object  of 
interest :  each  one  stood  unconscious  of  individual  exist 
ence,  rapt  in  contemplation  of  the  Beautiful.  I  loitered 
in  my  walk  toward  them  :  it  is  pleasant  to  see  one's 
friends  in  such  high,  peaceful  union.  An  Artist  would 
say  that  one  figure  was  not  in  keeping  with  the  whole. 
The  Merchant's  lady,  with  her  furbelows  and  flounces 
and  flaunting  cap,  lacked  simplicity.  I  am  thankful  that 
our  Family  cannot  be  called  to  account  for  her :  she  did 
not  grow  up  in  it ;  she  came  into  it  full-grown. 

Next  morning  our  visiters  departed.  The  Lady  was 
very  gracious  in  her  invitations  to  each  member  of  the 
family  ;  and  meant,  doubtless,  to  be  kind :  but  her  con 
descension  was  manifest.  She  had  a  patronizing  air,  and 
seemed  to  stoop  from  a  height,  which,  however,  was  a 
height  of  circumstance,  of  place ;  in  nowise  a  height  of 
Being. 

After  they  had  gone   away,  Uncle  John   said:  "Poor 
Robert,  he  is  full  of  care,   and  is  troubled  about  many 
16* 


186  PEBBLEBKOOK. 

things  ;  which,  however,  at  bottom,  are  all  one.  He  is 
afraid  he  shall  lose  half  his  wealth,  and  be  almost  ruined  : 
as  though  the  loss  of  money  could  ruin  a  Man.  There 
is  strange  self-abasement  in  such  elevation  of  outward 
things." 

"  And  yet,"  said  Amelia,  "  every  one  would  like  to  be 
rich  :  I  don't  know  how  much  money  I  would  take,  could 
I  get  it  for  the  asking." 

Harriet  said :  "  for  her  part  she  would  be  satisfied  with 
a  thousand  dollars  per  annum." 

I  repeated  the  saying  of  a  man  who  had  had  much  ex 
perience  in  getting  :  "  Whether  one  have  little  or  much, 
a  little  more  than  he  has  got  is  always  enough.  " 


MISCELLANIES.  187 


CHAPTER     XIX. 


MISCELLANIES. 

IN  one  of  my  evening  walks,  I  saw  an  old  man  trans 
planting  young  trees  from  a  nursery  into  a  field.  He 
looked  up  as  I  came  near,  and  I  saluted  him,  with  the 
reverence  due  to  an  old  man  so  employed.  He  leaned  on 
his  spade,  and  seemed  disposed  to  talk.  After  some  com 
mon  chat,  I  asked  his  age  :  he  answered  :  "I  am  four 
score  and  nine  years  old,  and  this  is  my  birth-day."  I 
said  ;  he  could  not  be  planting  for  himself  then.  "  No, 
young  man,"  he  replied,  "  I  know  not  for  whom  I  plant : 
yet  it  is  right  to  plant.  In  my  day,  I  have  reaped  what 
other's  sowed.  Those  who  have  gone  before,  have  done 
much  for  us,  and  we  should  do  something  for  those  who 
are  coming  after :  this  is  no  more  than  common  honesty 
requires.  Once  I  planted  Poplars  and  other  short-lived 
trees  :  I  have  seen  the  folly  of  that ;  they  injure  the  soil, 
and  already  I  see  them  decay  and  die.  Now,  in  my  old 
age,  I  plant  Oaks  and  Elms."  He  took  up  a  small  oak, 
which  he  was  about  to  fix  in  the  ground,  and  continued  : 
"  Some  years  ago  this  thing  was  an  acorn  :  I  planted  the 
acorn  in  that  nursery  and  this  has  come  of  it.  Now,  I 
shall  transplant  this  here,  where  it  will  have  more  room : 


PEBBLEBROOK. 

its  roots  will  spread  wide  under  ground,  and  its  branches 
wide  above.  Who  knows  what  may  come  of  it?  Perhaps 
some  two  hundred  years  hence,  after  it  has  given  out 
thousands  of  acorns,  it  will  be  fashioned  into  timber  and 
make  the  keel  of  some  great  ship,  which  shall  go  richly 
freighted  to  the  uttermost  parts  of  the  earth." 

I  found  the  old  man's  talk  instructive,  and  when  he 
paused,  I  said  ;  one  who  had  lived  so  long  as  he  must 
have  seen  great  changes.  He  left  his  spade  and  came  to 
the  fence  at  the  road-side,  where  I  stood,  "  Changes  !  " 
he  exclaimed,  "  I  have  seen  some  changes.  When  I  was 
a  boy,  great  part  of  this  place,  where  you  now  see  houses 
and  barns  and  cultivated  fields,  was  a  wilderness  :  and 
all  this  change  has  been  brought  about  by  work,  hard 
work.  When  I  look  back,  and  see  what  has  been  done 
by  work,  of  one  kind  and  another,  it  seems  to  me,  that 
the  unpardonable  sin  is  not  doing  one  thing  or  another 
thing,  but  doing  nothing.  A  man  who  eats  all  his  days 
and  does  nothing,  dies  a  Bankrupt :  he  has  not  paid  his 
debt  to  the  world  •  he  is  a  cumberer  of  the  ground,  and 
shall  be  cast  into  the  fire.  —  Yes,  there  have  been  changes 
enough  :  there,  where  my  son's  house  stands  now,  stood 
my  father's  log-hut.  I  was  the  oldest  child  :  there  were 
nine  of  us  children,  four  boys  and  five  girls  :  now  only 
three  are  alive.  1  wish  I  could  see  my  brother  and  sis 
ter  once  more  before  I  die."  It  seemed  now,  that  there 
would  be  no  end  to  the  old  man's  talk  :  he  went  on 
telling  the  history  of  each  member  of  the  family.  I  was 
waiting  for  a  pause  in  his  talk,  to  take  leave  to  go,  when 
Amelia  came  along  the  road  and  stopped  to  speak  to  the 
old  man.  This  recalled  him  from  the  Past  to  the  Pres 
ent,  and  he  said  :  he  must  go  to  his  work. 

Amelia  said,  she  was  going  to  Aunt  Katy  Mack's  :  I 


MISCELLANIES.  189 

asked,  and  got,  permission  to  accompany  her.  Katy 
Mack  (better  known  in  Pebblebrook  as  Aunt  Katy,)  is, 
I  believe,  of  Scotch  extraction.  She  has  no  family  rela 
tion  in  this  place,  and  I  have  not  heard  how  she  came 
hither.  She  lives  by  gathering  and  selling  wild  herbs  ; 
and  thus,  aided  by  small  donations  from  many  hands,  she 
gets  the  little  she  needs.  With  children  she  is  a  uni 
versal  favorite ;  and  when  she  goes  abroad,  groups  of 
little  ones  gather  round  her,  asking  her  to  make  verses. 
She  rarely  refuses  :  moving  her  head  forward  and  back, 
she  pours  forth,  in  sing-song  tone,  extempore  rhymes  al 
ways  in  the  same  measure.  The  greater  part  of  her  verses 
have,  as  one  may  think,  little  meaning ;  serving  only  to 
amuse  children  :  but  now  and  then  one,  partly  by  acci 
dent  perhaps,  embodies  a  wise  thought. 

Amelia,  when  she  knocked  at  the  door  of  a  little  cabin, 
told  me  to  stand  aside,  or  we  should  not  get  admittance ; 
the  old  woman  being  always  unwilling  to  admit  any  one, 
especially  a  stranger,  within  her  dwelling-place.  After 
repeated  knockings,  we  heard  her  talking  to  herself  and 
approaching  the  door.  She  unfastened  it,  and  opening  it 
only  so  far  as  to  make  her  face  visible  to  Amelia,  asked  : 
"  What  d'ye  want  o'  me  ?  " 

"  It  is  I :  you  must  let  me  in,  Aunt  Katy  ;  I  have 
brought  something  for  you." 

Amelia  pushed  the  door  open  so  far  as  she  could,  and 
slipped  in :  I  followed  her.  The  little  cabin  was  divided 
into  two  apartments,  by  a  passage-way  running  from  the 
outer  door  between  the  two.  This  passage-way  was  near 
ly  filled  with  brush- wood  for  fuel,  and  household  utensils ; 
buckets,  baskets,  tin  and  iron  vessels  for  cooking,  and 
what  not  ?  so  that  we  had  difficulty  in  getting  through 
it.  The  old  woman  retreated  before  us,  and  we  got  into 


190  PEBBLEBROOK. 

her  sleeping-room.  There  was  a  tumbled  bed  on  a  crazy 
frame,  an  old  rocking-chair  with  a  broken  back,  and 
many  boxes  filled  with  herbs.  Amelia  seated  herself  on 
one  of  the  boxes,  and  I  stood  in  the  door-way.  Aunt 
Katy,  now  aware  that  a  stranger  had  got  into  her  sanc 
tuary,  seemed  troubled  in  spirit,  and  muttered  to  herself 
some  unintelligible  words.  Amelia  handed  her  a  bundle 
and  said  :  "  Aunt  Katy,  there  is  some  clothing  for  you, 
which  we  have  made  up  in  our  leisure  hours  :  I  hope  you 
will  find  it  comfortable." 

The  old  women  took  the  bundle,  unrolled  it,  seated 
'herself  in  the  rocking-chair,  spread  the  clothing  over  her 
lap,  and  seemed  pleased.  Her  head  began  to  bob  for 
ward  and  back,  and  in  her  sing-song  tone,  she  said  : 

"  Thanks,  gentle  Lady,  ever  thanks, 

A  blessing  on  your  Life, 
Be  blest  in  all  you  do  on  Earth 

As  Single  One  or  Wife  ; 
She  who  giveth  to  iha  Poor, 

Is  lending  to  the  Lord, 
And  blessings  follow  all  she  does 

Who  looks  for  no  reward." 

I  held  out  a  piece  of  money  to  her,  and  said  :  "  Aunt 
Katy  have  you  no  blessing  for  me?" 

She  looked  me  full  in  the  face,  made  a  motion  of  the 
hand,  refusing  the  money,  and  began  to  mutter  to  her 
self  by  way  of  prelude.  Moving  her  head,  indeed  her 
whole  body,  more  violently  than  before,  she,  in  a  kind  of 
recitative,  brought  forth  a  verse  : 

"  Curst  be  your  Gold  ;  the  Saviour  died 

Through  him  who  bore  the  Scrip  ; 
Your  Gold  may  buy  from  Sons  of  Earth 

The  service  of  the  lip  ; 


MISCELLANIES. 

But  in  the  Higher  Things  of  Life 

Your  Gold  can  have  no  part, 
'  T  hath  opened  many  a  Door  on  Earth, 

But  never  yet  a  Heart." 

Somewhat  abashed  I  put  up  my  piece  of  money  and  we 
departed.  Aunt  Katy  followed  us  to  the  outer  door,  and 
stood  there  a  minute  in  the  open  light.  She  was  above 
the  common  height  and  seemed  to  be  of  large  frame, 
though  her  coarse  clothing  hung  so  loose  about  her  that 
we  could  not  be  certain  of  her  size.  The  features  of 
her  face  were  partly  concealed  by  thick  masses  of  grey 
hair  ;  but  a  pair  of  grey  eyes  looked  out  through  it,  and 
her  sunken  mouth  gave  to  her  nose  and  chin  greater 
prominence  than  they  could  have  had  in  her  younger 
days. 

On  our  homeward  way,  Amelia  said  :  "  Aunt  Katy 
will  never  take  money  :  I  should  have  told  you  that  be 
fore  we  entered.  I  conclude,  from  the  tenor  of  many  of 
her  verses,  that  she  was  in  her  youth,  grievously  wronged 
by  some  rich  man  who  offered  her  money  as  a  reparation 
of  the  wrong." 

"  Why,"  I  asked,  "  is  not  a  better  dwelling-place  pro 
vided  for  her  ?  I  noticed  that  last  night's  rain  had  come 
through  the  roof  in  many  places." 

"  Aunt  Katy  has  had  the  offer  of  a  better  place,  but  she 
will  not  leave  that  old  hut,  and  is  unwilling  to  have  any 
workmen  repair  it :  indeed  she  will  rarely  let  any  one  en 
ter  her  domicile.  It  was  long  before  she  could  forgive 
some  half-dozen  of  us  who  once  took  possession  in  her 
absence,  cleared  out  much  rubbish,  swept  the  rooms,  and 
put  things  in  order.  One  old  woman  here"  continued 
Amelia,  ''  is  quite  unlike  Aunt  Katy  in  many  respects  ; 
particularly  in  regard  to  money:  she  will  take  all  she  can 


192  PEBBLEBROOK. 

get.  She  said  to  me  one  day :  '  It  is  very  strange  that 
rich  people  are  so  stingy  :  if  I  had  three  hundred  dollars, 
I  am  sure  I  would  give  half  of  it  to  the  poor.'  " 

We  had  now  got  into  the  main  street,  and  saw,  at 
some  distance,  several  men  coming  toward  us.  Amelia 
asked  :  "  Do  you  know  either  of  those  men,  Frank  ?  "  I 
looked  out  toward  them  a  minute  or  two,  and  answered  : 

"  Yes  ;  that  one  on  the  right  of  the  road,  with  hat  in 
hand,  is  Uncle  John."  Amelia  said  :  "  I  should  know 
him  among  a  thousand :  at  this  distance  it  is  not  his 
dress,  which  is  nowise  remarkable,  nor  his  stature,  which 
is  little  above  the  common  height ;  it  is  his  walk  which 
distinguishes  him  ;  so  careless  yet  so  firm  !  " 

The  advancing  party  had  now  come  to  a  drain,  which 
ran  across  the  road,  and  was  uncovered,  being  under  re 
pair.  While  his  companions  turned  -to  one  side,  and 
passed  the  gully  on  a  plank,  Uncle  John  leaped  vigor 
ously  over  it.  "  See,"  cried  Amelia,  "  that  is  so  like 
him,  the  gray-headed  man  so  stout  at  heart !  "  — 

"Where  now?"  he  said:  "  O,  this  is  Saturday,  old 
woman  day :  how  do  you  find  the  ancient  ones  this  eve 
ning  Miss  Gad-about  ?  "  Amelia  said  ;  "  they  were  all  in 
the  land  of  the  living  :"  stepping  up  to  her  Uncle  she  bade 
him  stoop :  he  obeyed  ;  and  she  put  his  cravat  in  order, 
the  tie  of  which  had  changed  place  from  front  to  side : 
he  laughed,  and  went  on  his  way. 

We  came  near  the  post-office,  and  seeing  the  mail- 
wagon  at  the  door,  I  stopped  to  get  the  newspaper,  while 
Amelia  walked  on  her  way.  Some  thirty  men  women  and 
children  were  there  getting  letters  and  newspapers  :  I 
could  not  but  think  how  strangely,  in  these  days,  every 
little  village  stands  connected  with  the  whole  world.  The 
vast  world-circulation  goes,  unceasing,  on  its  wondrous 


MISCELLANIES.  1U3 

way.  Wind-ship  and  steam-vessel  there  on  the  ocean, 
mail-coach  and  steam-car  here  on  the  land,  are  ever  busy 
carrying  many  things  to  and  fro  ;  and  lo,  here  in  this  mean- 
looking,  one-horse  wagon  comes  much :  among  other 
things  all  the  public  gossip  of  England ;  and  also,  one 
may  hope,  something  better  were  it  only  by  accident. 
Poor  Lady  Flora,  Maid  of  Honor  to  Queen  Victoria, 
has  become  world-famous  for  Day  and  hour.  Every  girl 
in  Pebblebrook,  having  any  pretension  to  refinement,  has 
speculated  on  Lady  Flora's  case,  and  is  probably  not 
much  the  wiser  for  it,  unless  it  have  led  her  to  some 
thoughts  on  the  blessing  of  her  own  humble  lot.  Some 
men,  boasting  of  wisdom,  have  much  to  say  in  the  way  of 
censure  of  the  gossip  of  women  over  their  tea :  I  declare 
I  believe  the  whole  world  is  fast  forming  itself  into  one 
great  Tea  Party;  what  will  come  of  it  no  one  can  know. 
Every  thing  under  Heaven  is  published  now-a-days  :  no 
man  can  go  into  the  country  to  see  his  friends,  but 
straightway  he  thinks  the  World  ought  to  know  all  about 
it,  and,  in  the  kindness  of  his  heart,  he  publishes  a  book 
telling  how  he,  contemptible  little  fellow  as  he  is,  went 
about  and  about,  and  what  he  saw  and  heard  arid  said. 
Would  that  one  could  say :  this  is  the  worst  of  it :  but 
unfortunately  one  cannot  say  so.  I  would  bet  that  one 
little  man  (or  more)  is  at  this  very  moment  sitting  in  a 
fidgetty  way  at  home  and  trying,  with  might  and  main,  to 
imagine  that  he  is  not  at  home,  but  travelling  abroad  in 
very  interesting  situations  :  or  else  contriving  how  to  get 
some  imaginary  Tom  and  Dick,  and  Sally  and  Polly,  with 
in  sight  of  each  other ;  how  they,  in  a  becoming  way, 
can  be  made  to  fall  in  love  ;  and  finally,  after  innumerable 
heart-rending  trials  and  perplexities,  be  got  comfortably 
married,  or  uncomfortably  married,  or  not  married  at  all, 
17 


194  PEBBLEBROOK. 

all,  just  as  he,  contemptible  little  man,  may  imagine  will 
be  most  original.  This  business,  however,  is  explicable 
enough :  the  little  man  wants  Fame  and  Money,  and  not 
being  able  to  do  anything  deserving  of  such  high  reward, 
he  must  imagine  that  he  can  do  something,  or  that  he  can 
make  it  extremely  probable  that  somebody  has  done  some 
thing.  But  another  business,  whereon  this  explicable 
business  rests,  is  beyond  comprehension :  this,  name 
ly  ;  that  a  portion  of  society,  calling  itself  the  Reading 
Public,  actually  buys  the  imaginary  adventures  of  im 
aginary  Tom  and  Dick,  and  Sally  and  Polly,  pays  real 
money  for  the  cobweb-stuff,  and  actually  reads  it.  More 
over,  said  enlightened  Reading  Public  finds  the  stuff  very 
interesting ;  and  comes  near  weeping  because  the  con' 
temptible  little  man  imagined  that  Sally  had  a  heart  al 
most  broken  :  Poor  Sally  !  —  I  say  all  this  is  astonishing ; 
for  if  you  analyze  that  same  Reading  Public,  you  shall 
find  it  made  up  of  individuals,  men  women  and  children, 
each  having  a  flesh-and-blood  body  with  four  limbs  and 
five  senses,  perhaps  more;  and  a  mind,  as  is  often  said, 
of  boundless  capabilities,  and  what  is  called  an  Immortal 
Soul :  listen  well  and  you  shall  hear  very  many  of  them 
speak  out  the  word  Eternity. 


HOMEWARD     BOUND. 


CHAPTE  R    XX. 

HOMEWARD     BOUND. 

I  ROSE  with  the  sun  and  had  an  early  breakfast.  I  like 
to  kiss  young  women,  and  had,  while  at  table,  been  con 
sidering,  whether  it  would  be  quite  proper  to  make  that 
the  last  act  with  my  cousins.  My  horse  appeared  at  the 
door,  and  all  was  ready  for  my  departure.  I  rose  from 
table,  took  my  Aunt's  hand,  and  put  my  lips  to  hers. 
I  turned  to  Harriet  who  stood  nearest  :  she  took  iny  prof 
fered  hand  and  I  hesitated.  "Never  fear  man,"  cried 
Uncle  John,  "  'tis  only  a  short  way  of  telling  a  long  story ; 
there  are  sins  enough  in  this  world ;  don't  add  to  the 
number  :  kiss  her  and  think  no  more  of  the  matter."  It 
was  done.  Amelia  came  next,  and  I  was  glad  that  she 
came  last,  for  she  is  sweetest.  I  love  Amelia  with  a  cous 
in's  love,  which  is  of  an  indescribable  kind.  —  I  cannot 
admire  the  old  Puritan  manners  :  the  men  to  whom  many 
outward  acts  are  sinful,  have  little  of  the  innocence  of 
childhood.  In  the  Garden  of  Eden  only  one  Tree  was 
forbidden :  it  was,  however,  most  prolific  of  all :  else 
how  came  this  present  Garden  of  Life  to  be  accounted  a 
foul  jungle? — Some  philosophers  say,  that  each  man's 
outward  world  is  only  a  reflex  of  his  inward  one :  howso- 


196  PEBBLEBROOK. 

ever  that  may  be,  I  feel  quite  sure  that  the  light  of  each 
man's  moral  world  is  reflected  from  his  own  soul,  and 
by  that  colored.  He  who  makes  a  dark  lantern  of  this 
last  is  probably  one  bound  on  no  good  errand,  much 
afraid  of  being  himself  seen.  Let  all  such  make  haste  to 
the  Devil  —  or,  turn  short  about. 

"  Frank,"  said  Uncle  John,  "  What  a  world  this  would 
be,  if  all  faces  were  bearded !  Here  is  my  hand,  it  is  I 
suppose,  all  you  want  of  me." 

"  That  too  is  very  good,"  I  replied,  "  when  the  heart 
goes  with  it." 

I  rode  away  on  the  same  road  by  which  I  had  entered 
Pebblebrook.  On  the  hill-side  I  turned  about  and  looked 
down  on  the  scene.  It  was  the  same  that  I  had  looked  on 
some  few  months  before;  and  yet  not  the  same.  The 
young  seed-field,  sprouting  then,  had,  in  the  interval, 
changed  itself  to  a  yellow  harvest-field  ready  for  the  sickle. 
All  around,  autumn-decay  began  to  peep  through  sum 
mer-greenness,  and  forecast  winter-desolation.  No  need 
to  weep  in  view  of  that.  The  vegetable  year  ends  in  a 
sleep,  as  many  other  things  do.  It  shall  wake  again 
in  new  vesture  Here  :  its  "  little  life  is  rounded  by  a 
sleep." 

Over  the  hill  on  the  other  side,  the  lookout  is  a  wide 
one  :  far  away,  over  forest  and  field,  rose  up  the  blue  sky, 
and  arched  itself  overhead.  Here  and  there  quiet  lakelets 
received  silver  streams,  and  sent  them  out  again  to  ram 
ble  fantastically  along  low  places.  A  long  line  of  road 
lay  stretched  out  before  me  ;  a  yellowish  path-way  dotted 
on  either  side  by  farm-houses  ;  and  I  went  joyous  onward. 
Ride  who  will,  through  a  beautiful  country  in  close-car 
riage  or  steam-car  ;  give  me  health,  strength,  a  good  sad 
dle  horse,  and  an  open  eye. 


HOMEWARD    BOUND.  197 

Toward  noon,  my  horse  pricked  up  his  ears,  and  neighed 
at  sight  of  a  tavern-sign,  for  he  knows  where  provender 
can  be  got,  and  is  no  fool.  Some  baggage-wagons  stood 
around,  and  an  old  man  with  a  harp  by  his  side,  and  mug 
of  beer  in  his  hand,  sat  on  the  door-step.  He  was  plainly 
a  foreigner  who  had  partly  steered  himself,  partly  drifted, 
hither  to  this  utilitarian  land.  I  asked  him  ;  could  he 
sing  ?  He  put  down  his  mug  and  took  up  his  harp  :  after 
a  little  preluding,  he  touched  the  strings  with  a  strong 
hand  and  sang,  in  mixed  French,  a  ditty,  of  which  I 
could  understand  only  few  of  the  words,  and  got  the  sense 
of  it  chiefly  through  tune  and  tone  :  it  seemed  to  be  the 
Soothing  of  Sorrow.  His  voice,  though  rude  and  some 
what  broken,  had  yet  a  strange  music  in  it,  like  that  of 
night-wind  among  leafless  trees.  I  gave  him  a  piece  of 
money :  he  drained  his  mug,  and  departed  on  his  way, 
which  will  lead  him  Heaven  knows  whither. 

After  some  hours  of  rest  1  got  under  way  again,  and 
rode  about  sunset  into  a  manufacturing  town  ;  the  aspect 
of  which  struck  me  unpleasantly.  It  had  a  raw,  uncom 
fortable  look,  and  every  living  thing  seemed  to  be  hurry 
ing  on  some  life-errand.  I  had  acquaintance  here,  and 
determined  to  spend  a  day  among  them  :  being  weary, 
however,  I  went  early  to  bed  this  night  at  a  public  house. 

Next  day,  I  made  some  calls  on  old  friends,  and  dined 
with  a  young  clergyman  who  had  lately  settled  here.  His 
wife,  a  pleasant,  sociable  woman,  seems  quite  at  home  in 
this  world ;  and  her  easy  manners  placed  me  at  once  on 
the  footing  of  an  old  acquaintance,  though  I  had  never 
seen  her  before.  The  clergyman's  brother,  resident  in 
another  town,  who  dined  with  us  this  day,  did  little  to 
promote  a  pleasant  hour.  The  conversation  turned  on 
trade  ;  and  he,  with  some  vehemence  asserted,  that  all 
17* 


198  FEBBLEBROOK. 

men  who  live  and  grow  rich  by  buying  and  selling  are  an 
abomination  :  "  of  what  use,  "  said  he,  "  are  these  mer 
chants,  as  they  style  themselves,  who  assume  airs  of  su 
periority  1  What  do  they,  except  stop  goods  on  their  way 
from  the  producer  to  the  consumer,  and  raise  the  price, 
so  as  to  retain  a  considerable  sum  in  their  own  hands  ? 
They  neither  invent,  nor  manufacture,  nor  improve  any 
thing  :  their  whole  business  is,  to  shuffle  over  the  works 
of  other  men,  and  shuffle  a  large  part  thereof  into  their 
own  pockets.  It  is  a  well  known  fact,  that  three-fourths 
of  the  merchants  and  traders  in  our  cities  become  bank- 
rupt,  once  or  more  in  the  course  of  their  lives  :  yet,  on 
an  average,  they  spend  yearly,  each  of  them,  a  sum  suf 
ficient  to  support  the  families  of  half  a  dozen  honest  me- 
Phanics  :  it  is  abominable." 
"Brother  Seth,"  said  the  Lady,  "do  look  sometimes 
at  the  roses  on  the  bush  of  life,  not  always  at  the  thorns  : 
these  last,  perhaps,  are  only  there  as  a  hint,  that  we  should 
not  clutch  at  the  good  things  too  greedily.  How  are 
your  children  now  1 "  He  answered  drily,  that  they  were 
pretty  well,  and  resumed  his  talk.  When  he  paused  again, 
our  host  said,  "  I  think  you  are  wrong,  Seth,  in  stating 
this  so  strongly.  I  believe  that  such  a  class  of  men  is 
quite  necessary  to  facilitate  the  exchange  of  commodities. 
By  means  of  these  men,  the  productive  classes  find  a 
ready  market  for  all  that  they  produce  ;  and  the  consumer 
gets  what  he  wants,  without  unnecessary  loss  of  time. 
These  traders  make  it  their  business  to  watch  the  state 
of  the  markets  all  over  the  country  :  when  an  article 
rises  in  price  at  any  one  point,  indicating  that  there  is 
a  scarcity  there,  straightway,  abundance  of  that  article 
is,  by  the  agency  of  these  men,  transported  to  that  point, 
and  thus  prices  are  equalized,  and  the  wants  of  all  sup- 


HOMEWARD     BOUND.  lU^ 

plied.  Consider  on  the  other  hand,  how  different  would 
be  the  state  of  things  without  these  traders.  The  pro 
ducer  would  be  obliged  to  travel  about,  to  find  purchas 
ers  for  his  productions.  Wearied  in  the  search,  he  would 
often  sell  for  such  price  as  he  couli  get ;  and  on  his 
return  home,  would,  sometimes,  have  the  mortification  of 
learning,  that  his  neighbor,  who  had  gone  in  another  di 
rection,  had  returned  with  twice  as  much  as  himself, 
though  he  carried  out  no  more.  The  buyers  would  have 
equal  difficulties.  There  is  now*  little  danger  of  a  fam 
ine  in  any  part  of  the  civilized  world :  these  traders  and 
merchants,  men  engaged  in  the  home  and  foreign  trade, 
will  prevent  it." 

The  brother  insisted  he  had  right :  he  would  rather  all 
men  had  to  submit  to  these  losses  and  inconveniences, 
than  that  such  a  set  of  half-gentlemen  should  have  exist 
ence,  and  look  down  on  the  really  useful  part  of  the  com 
munity.  "  There  are  your  lawyers  too,"  he  continued, 
"  who  live  on  other  people's  earnings,  and  promote  quar 
rels  among  men  for  their  own  advantage  ;  I  wish  they 
could  be  swept  from  the  face  of  the  Earth.  What  good 
do  they  ?  What  are  they  here  for  ?  " 

The  clergyman  mildly  replied,  "  So  long  as  we  live  in 
a  country  where  there  are  laws,  and  trials  by  jury,  we 
must  have  men  to  study  these  laws  and  explain  them. 
There  is  not,  that  I  have  heard,  any  law  obliging  you  to 
employ  a  lawyer." 

"  You  are  all  leagued  together,"  said  the  brother,  an 
grily,  "  the  merchants,  lawyers,  doctors  and  priests.  To 
tell  the  truth,  I  think  the  last  are  worst."  The  other 
smiled  and  attempted  to  turn  the  conversation  by  asking 
me  :  "  is  there  any  foreign  news  ?  "  I  answered  :  "  not 
much  :  the  last  arrival  from  England  brings  accounts  of 
disturbances  in  the  manufacturing  districts." 


200  PEBBLEBROOK. 

This,  however,  did  not  help  us  much  ;  for  the  brother 
took  occasion  to  commence  a  tirade  against  the  im 
migrants,  who,  he  said,  are  taking  the  bread  out  of  the 
mouths  of  our  native  citizens.  He  soon  got  round  to 
aristocrats,  who  lived,  he  said,  on  the  labors  of  other  men 
in  one  way  and  another,  and  did  nothing  themselves  but 
ride  about  the  country.  The  man  looked  at  me  as  he 
ended  his  speech,  and  an  angry  reply  rose  to  my  lips  ; 
but  recollecting  that  he  was  my  host's  brother,  I  swal 
lowed  a  part,  and  only  said,  "  The  great  evil  is  not 
wealth  itself,  but  the  undue  estimation  in  which  wealth  is 
held.  It  is  mainly  the  envy  of  the  Poor  which  exalts  the 
Rich.  When  the  many  cease  to  look  up  to,  and  curse 
the  few  because  of  their  possessions,  there  will  be  such  a 
revolution  as  the  world  has  not  yet  seen.  Who  would  be 
anxious  to  get,  and  to  keep,  that  which  no  one  envies 
him  the  possession  of?" 

I  was  glad  when  this  man  said  he  must  go  ;  for  though 
the  Lady,  by  those  little  things  which  ladies  know  best 
how  to  do,  had  made  my  situation/tolerable,  yet  there  was 
unavoidable  discord  in  his  presence.  In  every  thing  he 
saw  only  Evil,  and  I  was  reminded  of  that  fault-finding 
old  man,  blind  of  one  eye,  who  said  to  young  Goethe, 
*'  in  God,  too,  I  can  discover  faults." 

After  his  departure  I  passed  a  pleasant  hour.  A  bright 
boy,  about  three  years  old,  was  let  into  the  room,  and 
came  bounding  toward  me  with  a  shout ;  but  stopped 
short  about  midway  from  the  door,  and  dropping  his 
arms  by  his  sides,  looked  steadfastly  into  my  face.  — 
"  Well,  Austin,  who  is  it  ?  "  said  the  mother.  "  'Tisn't 
Uncle  ;  I  thought  'twas  Uncle  Edward."  I  held  out  my 
hand,  and  asked  him  to  come  to  me,  even  though  I  could 
not  call  myself  his  uncle.  "  Did  you  see  Uncle  Edward?" 


HOMEWARD      BOUND.  201 

he  asked.  I  told  him  I  had  never  seen  his  Uncle,  and 
asked,  where  is  he  ?  "  In  a  ship  ;  he  said  he'd  come 
again,  and  I  look  for  him  every  day,  and  he  don't  come." 
The  father  explained  to  me  that  his  wife's  brother,  of 
whom  the  boy  was  very  fond,  had  sailed  for  Europe  some 
twenty  days  before,  and  the  little  fellow,  who  had  no  very 
definite  ideas  of  time  and  space,  often  looked  out  for  him. 
The  boy's  face,  while  the  father  spoke,  had  a  perplexed 
expression ;  but,  catching  his  mother's  eye,  his  look 
changed  instantly  :  jumping  from  my  knee  he  ran  to  her, 
crying  out,  "  Bird,  mamma,  my  bird."  She  went  with 
him  into  an  adjoining  room,  and  the  father,  who  seemed 
delighted  with  his  son,  said,  "  How  earnest  that  boy  is  ; 
he  does  things  with  his  whole  heart;  I  have  much  hope 
of  him  ;  earnestness  of  character  is  an  essential  thing  in 
boy  or  man.  A  deep  sadness  comes  over  me  sometimes 
when  I  watch  him  at  play,  and  think  what  lies  before 
him.  Were  it  not  for  Hope  and  Faith,  beyond  what  can 
be  grounded  on  any  arguments,  I  could  weep  over  him.'* 
Pretty  soon,  he  continued,  thoughtfully,  "  I  suppose  we 
must  begin  to  give  him  religious  instruction  :  yet  I  really 
believe  I  learn  more  of  God  from  him  than  he  can  learn 
from  me.  My  studies  and  my  office,  have  led  me  to  think 
much  of  faith,  theological  faith  ;  but  there  must  be,  and  is, 
a  Faith  quite  distinct  from  that :  something,  not  depend 
ent  on  it,  but  beyond  it  and  above  it.  There  is  a  Light 
which  lighteth  every  man  who  cometh  into  the  world;  it 
is  in  clear  recognition  of  this  Light,  in  walking  in  it,  that 
the  essence  of  Religion  consists.  The  office  of  Christian 
Teacher  is,  in  these  days,  a  perplexing  one."  We  were 
interrupted  by  a  man  who  came  in  to  consult  the  clergy 
man  on  some  parish  business,  and  1  took  leave. 
I  walked  toward  the  hotel,  somewhat  undecided 


202  PEBBLEBROOK. 

whether  to  journey  on  or  remain  in  town  'till  the  morrow. 
I  made  some  calculations  in  regard  to  the  time  in  which 
I  could  reach  a  certain  village  ;  and  found  myself  in  that 
foolish  state  of  mind,  indecision  in  regard  to  a  trifle, 
most  provoking  perhaps  of  all  states.  Such  state  is, 
however,  always  incident  to  living  without  an  object. 
One  who  knows  what  he  wants,  who  has  some  Life-end 
before  him,  goes  straight  toward  it  without  dissipation  of 
mind.  Wealth  and  Fame  are  the  generally  recognised 
Objects  of  Life ;  and  as  that  is  considered  the  surest 
basis  for  this,  the  great  business  of  Life  is  the  getting  of 
money.  Now,  when  from  any  cause,  say  defect  of  organ 
ization,  want  of  appetite,  or  temptation  of  the  Devil,  these 
things  cease  to  be  the  objects  of  one's  life,  what  under 
Heaven  can  one  do  ?  —  The  great  error  of  Parents  and 
Teachers  at  the  present  day  lies  perhaps  in  supposing 
that  they  know  precisely  what  course  their  pupil  should 
take  in  life.  They  do  not  know  this,  they  cannot  know 
it ;  every  man  is  by  nature  original,  and  you  cannot  be 
fool  even  the  simplest  into  the  exact  likeness  of  any  other 
fool.  Find,  if  you  can,  two  human  beings  who  are  pre 
cisely  alike  ;  and  then  place  them,  if  you  can,  in  the 
same  environment  of  circumstances  :  all  the  Education 
ists  in  this  world  cannot  do  it.  Nature  undertook  this 
task  once  for  our  instruction,  and  made  a  pair  of  Sia 
mese  Twins  fastened  together  by  a  cord  of  flesh  ;  men 
found  them  fit  only  for  exhibition  as  a  Wonder.  Could 
the  strict,  narrow  man  do  what  he  would,  and  make  all 
men  precisely  alike,  I  would  beg  leave  to  get  out  of  their 
way.  Good  Heavens !  what  a  rush  there  would  be,  all 
in  one  direction,  and  after  Nothing,  for  no-thing  is  Infi 
nite  :  or  would  all  men  then  stand  still  ? 

The  easy  part  of  preaching  is  this,  to  prove   that  too 


HOMEWARD     BOUND.  203 

much  of  certain  things  is  —  too  much,  and  too  little  of 
other  things  is  —  not  enough ;  the  difficult  part  is  to 
show  how  much  is  too  much,  how  little  is  too  little ;  that 
part  is  accordingly  often  done  to  the  entire  satisfaction 
of  many  a  man,  but  not  so  this  other  part.  The  great 
sermon  for  each  man  lies  behind  him  in  living  characters ; 
let  him  turn  round  and  read  that,  by  the  God-given  light 
that  is  in  him,  and  he  shall  know;  otherwise  he  cannot 
know,  but  must  ever  stand  uncertain,  weighing  proba 
bilities  on  the  balance  of  his  understanding.  This  last 
is  the  way  generally  prescribed,  but  unfortunately  human 
life  is  too  short  for  it ;  one  can  never  get  done  weighing. 

I  said  just  now  that  I  walked  toward  the  hotel,  a  mis 
erable,  contemptible  man,  not  knowing  what  to  do.  I 
was,  as  men  say,  lost  in  thought ;  and  probably  had  that 
look  which  is  accounted  mark  of  wisdom  ;  but  Gravity 
brooding  over  Follies  can  hatch  only  Goslings.  — 

Next  day,  after  noon,  I  arrived  at  that  village  where 
the  wax  figures  were  exhibited  some  time  ago.  I  was 
still  in  a  state  of  indecision.  When  I  came  to  the  cross 
street,  which  leads  to  the  house  of  my  mother's  friend, 
my  horse  turned  into  it,  and  1  let  him  have  his  way. 
While  yet  at  some  distance  from  the  gate  I  saw  two 
figures  issue  from  it ;  a  man  in  dark  clothes,  a  woman  in 
white,  and  walk  up  the  street  in  the  direction  I  was  going. 
I  thought  I  recognised  them,  and  did  not  feel  quite  at 
ease  when  I  entered  the  house.  The  man  of  the  house 
was  abroad  :  the  lady  greeted  me  kindly.  After  some 
talk  I  asked,  what  news  ? 

"  None,"  she  replied,  "  O  yes,  I  forgot ;  it  will  be 
news  to  you  ;  Elizabeth  is  engaged." 

"Engaged?" 

"  Yes  ;  you  can  guess  to  whom,  I  suppose." 


204  PEBBLEBROOK. 

I  made  some  reply  in  such  tone  of  indifference  as  I 
could  assume.  In  my  heart  I  am  afraid  I  cursed  the 
schoolmaster. 

The  lady  offered  to  have  my  horse  cared  for  ;  but  I 
said  I  must  be  on  my  way.  I  thought  I  detected  a  smile 
lurking  about  the  lady's  face  when  she  urged  me  to  stay  ; 
women  are  quick-sighted  in  affairs  of  the  heart.  I  de 
cidedly  refused  to  stay,  and  departed  soon  as  I  could  do 
so  with  good  grace.  My  horse  was  less  willing  to  go 
than  I ;  he  was  refractory,  and  thought  he  could  have  his 
own  way  because  I  had  been  so  undecided  of  late  ;  but 
now  I  was  decided  enough.  Decision  often  makes  one 
master,  and  the  horse,  this  time,  must  go  my  way. 

1  cannot  say  that  my  thoughts  and  feelings  were  alto 
gether  pleasant  that  night ;  but  they  did  not  banish  sleep  ; 
nor  did  sleep  quite  banish  them.  1  had  a  dream  or  a 
vision.  There  were  Priest,  Bridegroom,  and  Wedding 
Guests  ;  but  no  Bride.  A  kind  of  smoke,  or  vapor  rose, 
and  the  scene  changed  itself.  I  saw  one  in  white  robes 
whose  features  were  known  to  me  ;  she  pointed  to  a  party 
of  young  women  in  a  Grove,  who  seemed  to  be  in  search 
of  something. 

Next  day,  before  I  rode  into  the  city,  I  had  regained 
my  usual  degree  of  equanimity.  I  am  too  old  to  die  of 
disappointed  love.  Your  young  Plant  just  out  of  the 
nursery  is  easily  blighted  or  crushed  ;  but  the  full  grown 
Tree,  which,  in  sunshine  and  storm  has  rooted  itself,  will 
live  through  much. 


AT      HOME.  205 


CHAPTER  XXI. 


AT     HOME. 

MY  housekeeper  —  to  avoid  scandal  I  may  say  that  she 
is  quite  old  and  ugly  —  expressed  a  kind  of  joy  at  sight 
of  me,  and  declared  that  I  looked  quite  well.  She  is  of 
economical,  thrifty  turn  of  mind,  and  seemed  to  think  I 
had  loitered  and  wasted  time  on  this  excursion:  but  she 
is  never  satisfied.  What  had  I  done  if  I  had  staid  at 
home  ?  Nothing  but  look  out  of  windows  at  brick  walls 
and  painfully  strive  to  keep  myself  alive.  In  one  point 
of  view  it  may,  with  some  show  of  truth,  be  said  that  this 
journey  has  been  unprofitable ;  that  I  have  returned  to 
my  starting  place  empty  as  I  went  out.  It  is  not  exactly 
so.  Before  judging  of  any  man's  acts  as  regards  their 
worth  to  himself,  we  should  look  into  the  man  and  con 
sider  what  he  specially  is.  The  restless,  whizzing,  buz 
zing  man  does  a  great  thing  when  he  keeps  himself  still 
one  whole  day  ;  he  shall  be  the  better  for  it  all  the  days 
of  his  life.  For  your  sedentary,  reflective  Donothing,  on 
the  other  hand,  a  journfcy,  were  it  only  to  some  Pebble- 
brook  and  back,  can  hardly  fail  to  be  beneficial. 

My  good  Physician  came  inr  took  my  hand,  and  smiled. 
I  do  not  mean  to  say  that  he  opened  his  mouth,  and,  with 
18 


206 


PEB  BLEBB.OOK. 


an  effort,  drew  up  the  corners  of  it ;  he  smiled  all  over. 
Speaking  as  though  he  had  given  the  Prescription  only  a 
week  ago,  he  asked  : 

"  How  did  it  operate  ?  " 

"  Very  well,"  I  replied ;    "  it  set  me  in  motion  and 

cleared  out  much  bad  stuff." 

A 
"  How  is  your  appetite  now  ?" 

"  Right  good  ;  I  have  great  desire." 

"  Do  you  digest  well?" 

"  So  well  that  I  have  done  thinking  about  digestion." 

"  How  did  you  find  your  friends?  " 

"  Quite  well.  I  found  intercourse  with  them  pleasant 
and  quickening.  I  had  almost  forgotten  that  I  had 
friends." 

"  It  is  dangerous,"  he  said,  "  for  a  man  to  neglect  his 
relations  in  this  life  ;  he  gets  into  a  bad  way.  A  com 
pletely  isolated  Being  is  always  in  some  sense  sick.  By 
all  means,  then,  a  man  should  find  out  his  relations  and 
learn  to  know  them.  When  he  has  once  taken  this  busi 
ness  in  hand  he  need  never  be  idle,  for  Man's  relations 
are  wide  as  the  Universe." 

I  suppose  the  Doctor  saw  in  my  looks  an  expression  of 
dismay  at  the  width  of  the  business  ;  for  he,  after  a  short 
pause,  added  : 

"  You  may  have  noticed,  Mr.  Harding,  that  a  social 
man,  who  has  already  got  a  circle  of  acquaintance,  finds 
no  difficulty  in  enlarging  it ;  for  each  one  of  that  circle 
has  also  a  circle  of  his  own,  and  willingly  introduces  the 
social  man  into  it.  This  holds  good  not  only  of  men, 
but  of  all  things  ;  each  thing,  besides  its  immediate  fam 
ily  relations,  has  universal  relations  ;  and  the  man  who 
really  knoics  one  thing  stands  in  the  door-way  to  many. 
There  is,  moreover,  much  truth  in  the  saying  of  one  of 


AT     HOME.  207 

my  best  friends :  Let  a  man  take  a  true  position,  and  do 
what  he  ought  to  do  there,  and  the  huge  world  will  come 
round  to  him." 

The  Doctor  sings  many  little  songs  very  prettily.  He 
is  a  man  of  much  humor,  and  when  he  took  his  hat  to  go 
he  stood  a  minute  whirling  it  about  with  an  affectation 
of  embarrassment.  Then  looking  steadily  into  the  hat  as 
though  he  saw  something  curious  there,  he  sang : 

A  loving  heart,  a  loving  Heart 

Is  Fount  whence  Wisdom  flows  ; 
Take,  thoughtful  man,  thy  Brother's  part ; 

So  know  his  Joys  and  Woes. 

Be  not  afraid,  be  not  afraid  ; 

No  Good  can  come  from  Fear  ; 
Who  fashioned  thee  all  things  hath  made  ; 

Thy-working-place  is  Here. 


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